The Prodigal
by slaine89
Summary: A fight with Adam causes fifteen year old Joe to leave the ranch, and events take a turn for the worse, making it impossible for him to return home whether he wants to or not.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was the same as any other saloon he'd been in. The same ragtag mix of cowboys, farmers, and stragglers. A couple of girls mingling to keep the money flowing. The bartender wiping down the counter with a white rag. No difference here. But Joe still couldn't get comfortable in his seat. Maybe it was the glances from the other men in the room wondering if he was even old enough to be served or the girls trying to decide if he had enough money to be worth their time. Or maybe it was the old man sitting in the corner and taking everything in like a hawk.

He was like an old oak tree, lean and withered, but hard, so hard you'd be liable to break your axe if you tried to hack it down. And his eyes traveled around the room in a circular patter; every time they flickered over him, Joe looked away. And every time they passed, he looked back. He couldn't help it. He had a feeling the man knew he was watching him, but he didn't seem to care enough to talk.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in here before." A dark haired girl smiled as she slid into the seat next to him. Her poison green dress rustled as she smoothed her skirt down. "Where are you from?"

"Sacramento." Joe didn't think there was any harm in telling her the truth; anyone looking for him would be back on their way to San Francisco, not here Placerville, but you could never be sure. Better to be safe than sorry.

"Sacramento? So a city boy." she smiled, her red lips stretching over perfect white teeth. "Where are you headed?"

"Not sure." Joe lied as he motioned to the bartender.

"I never drink with a man without knowing his name." The girl said as Joe poured her a drink. He jingled a couple of coins in his pocket. This drink would have to be a short one.

"Joe."

"Nice to meet you, Joe. I'm Jewel." She lifted her glass. "Planning on staying in town long?"

"Maybe."

"Well, you'll have to come back and see me again." She smiled alluringly and winked. "It's not too often I get such handsome visitors. Most of the men in this town are what you see here: rabble."

"So is that why the bartender didn't throw me out for being too young when I first walked in?"

"Too young? How old are you?"

"Old enough." Joe stood. Drinks were all well and good, but they didn't go very far toward keeping your stomach full. "I'll see you around."

"I hope so." She gave him a little grin and he smiled faintly before turning and walking out. He must be desperate if even a pretty girl like that couldn't get his mind off things. He jingled the coins again, not noticing as he nearly bumped into someone.

"Sorry." Joe tried to step aside, but the man grabbed him by his collar. He felt his feet leave the wooden boards of the porch.

"So where's a kid like you come off buying drinks for my girl?" the man growled. Joe's eyes traveled past a large blonde beard and a large nose to meet a pair of ice-like blue eyes. For some reason he was reminded of his brother Hoss when he got mad, which, although it wasn't often, was one of the most terrifying things a person could ever see. But usually whenever Hoss did get mad, he was on the same side as Joe. Now there was no one to defend him.

"She approached me." Joe managed to gulp out. The stranger's fist was pressing up against his throat through his shirt.

"Sure. And why would she go to a kid?"

"I don't know. Maybe you're not man enough for her." Almost before he'd gotten the sentence out, Joe gasped as a fist landed in his stomach. The man dropped him to the floor, and he felt a boot in his side.

"What was that?" the man leered over him as he gasped for breath like a fish on a riverbank.

_That probably wasn't the best thing to say._ Joe decided. He tried to inhale, but the boot hit his stomach again, forcing what little air he'd managed to draw in back out.

"Picking on kids, Johnson?" a voice creaked over Joe's head. He looked up to see the old man from the saloon standing over him.

"None of your business, Morgan."

"No, probably not. But you might want to leave him alone anyway."

"And why's that?"

"Just a thought. Besides, I think you're girl's waiting for you inside. Might want to go win her back now before she takes a liking to some other young pup."

"Sure." The man gave Morgan a glare like a young wolf losing its prey to a seasoned warrior and then gave Joe one last kick as he walked past into the bar. Joe didn't wait for Morgan to offer a hand as he stood up.

"Out here you gotta watch where you step; people don't like having their feet trod on." Morgan said.

"Thanks." Joe muttered. He brushed the dust off his shirt and winced as his hand brushed against his stomach. That would be tender for a while. The old man chuckled, a sound like a rusty wagon wheel.

"What?" Joe snapped.

"Ready for round two are ya?"

"I could've taken him."

"Not on your life. You may be high and mighty wherever you come from, but out here, you ain't worth more than the dirt on your jacket."

"I'd hardly say high and mighty." Joe turned to go.

"No? Well, maybe not, but I'll bet you've never been as hungry before in your life as you are now."

Joe waved a hand and kept walking. Just because he was at a low point didn't mean he wanted it rubbed in his face.

"Got enough money for some tobacco?" the man hollered after him. Joe sighed and turned around.

"Maybe, but I'm not giving it to you."

"Tell you what," the man caught up to him, hopping across the street like an old crow. For someone who was so formidable sitting down, it was amazing how harmless, and almost comical he seemed standing next to him. He was barely eye level with Joe.

"I'll buy you dinner if you buy be some tobacco. Deal?"

"What?" Maybe he'd gotten a kick in the head too because Joe couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"Before my wife died I promised her I'd never buy tobacco again. So? Do we have a deal?"

Joe studied the old man. The last thing he wanted was to sit down and share a meal with those piercing eyes fixed on him and his casual statements that seemed to hit the nail on the head. But a meal was a meal, and his stomach was quickly winning against any fight his brain was putting up.

"Sure."

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"So," Morgan spread butter onto a piece of bread later in the hotel. "got a name?"

"Joe Cartwright."

"Where are you headed? And don't give me that bull you gave the girl, though I have to say, it was probably smart. You don't want to tell everything to the first pretty girl that looks your way."

"So why should I tell you?" Joe had already finished his first piece of bread. He eyed the basket, but he didn't want to look too much like a starved waif. Morgan seemed to read his mind and passed it to him.

"Well, I'm not exactly a pretty girl, am I?"

"New Orleans."

"Long way."

"I can make it." Joe snapped.

"Sure. And I suppose there's a good reason you're traveling alone so young." He glanced at Joe and then continued rambling when Joe didn't answer. "I mean, you don't strike me as the type of young man that would run away from home on a whim but not go back because you were too stubborn to admit a mistake."

"I'm sorry, are you trying to be aggravating?"

"It's a hobby, lad. Ask anyone and they'll tell ya. So am I right or wrong?"

"About what?"

"What you're up to."

Joe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. And he'd thought his older brother Adam was irritating. "What makes you think I'm running away?"

"A boy your age in a saloon means you're trying to prove you're a man. You're not some lad who's hard on his luck because then you wouldn't have been stupid enough to get into that fight. Clearly you have a short temper, which means you act on your emotions, but you've got a stubborn streak in you since you're not digging into the bread even though you look hungry. And you didn't tell that girl where you were going, so clearly you've got something to hide."

Joe clenched his jaw to keep it from opening slightly in shock. "You spend too much time staring at people, mister." He finally said. Then he took two more pieces of bread. After all, Morgan was paying, and the old man was getting on his nerves.

"Just making conversation. Of course we could sit here in silence and wait for the food to get here."

"We could."

"Or I could go back to my saloon and leave you in peace."

Joe felt a slight twinge of conscience. After all, the man had bought him lunch. And he hadn't said anything that wasn't true.

"So were you always this observant of people?" he asked in a slightly exasperated tone. Part of him wondered if he would regret extending the conversation.

"It comes from a life on the road. Always know who your enemies are, who to avoid, and who you can use, and the sooner you learn, the more likely your chances of survival are."

"So which am I? Someone to use?"

"Someone who has no idea what he's getting himself into."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." This almost wasn't worth the meal. Almost. But when their food arrived Joe changed his mind. And thankfully Morgan was so busy eating he didn't talk much more except to remark that Joe had better eat well now because it would probably be his last good meal for a while. When they left, Joe reluctantly held out his hand.

"Thanks, Mr. Morgan."

Morgan waved his own hand dismissively. "Don't bother. Have a good life!" Then he headed back down the street in the direction of the saloon. Joe shook his head and went the opposite way. It was getting late, and he needed to find a place to spend the night. Tomorrow he would head out to Sacramento. Hopefully from there he could find a job until he had enough money for a stage that would take him farther southeast.

'One step at a time. Gotta get there first.' He thought. It was a good forty-five mile walk to Sacramento. Joe moseyed over to the general store. He would have to skip breakfast if he wanted enough food to last him.

"Help ya, son?" the storekeeper asked. "We're just about getting' ready to close."

"I just need some jerky and bread." Joe glanced in the back room as he heard a loud crash followed by a muffled curse.

"Hang on." The shopkeeper disappeared through the doorway. "What the devil are you doing?" he shouted at whoever was back there. Joe couldn't hear the reply. "I thought I sent you to the bank. I wanted that money deposited tonight." Once again the reply was muffled, and the shopkeeper lowered his voice. "Because I don't want six thousand dollars sitting in here overnight; that's why! No, it'll be closed now. Just put it back here somewhere where it'll be safe until tomorrow." He reappeared through the doorway. "Sorry about that. Just hired a new boy; he's still learning the ropes. You said bread and jerky?"

"Yes, sir." Joe placed thirty cents on the counter. "Just however much this'll get me."

"Alright." The storekeeper wrapped up the food and handed it to Joe.

"Thanks." Joe left the store. He stepped into the street and then stopped. Across from the store was the livery stable, and the door to the hayloft was open a crack. Joe glanced around the practically deserted street and then went over to investigate.

A couple of barrels sitting beside the barn allowed Joe to climb up to the roof. From there it was an easy matter of slipping through the open door and shutting it behind him. Joe waited for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the dim light before he cautiously stepped forward. The floorboards creaked slightly beneath his tentative feet as he made his way across the empty space to the stacked hay bales on the other side. Joe glanced down through the hold in the floor that led to the stable below to make sure it was empty and then climbed up the tower of hay. After manipulating a few bales so he wouldn't be noticed by anyone who came up into the loft, he settled down in the nest he'd made.

After a few minutes, he shifted, trying to rearrange himself so there wouldn't be hay prickling into his neck and arms. The movement reminded him of the few occasions he'd been sent to sleep in the barn when he was younger. A grin tickled the edges of his mouth as he remembered the most vivid of those nights. He'd been eleven and too wound up over the prospect of upgrading from a pony and the ranch horses to his very own, full grown horse to sleep. Finally Pa had had enough of his bouncing around and sent him to the barn for the night. Even that hadn't been enough to dampen his spirits. The thunderstorm had though. It was just far enough away for Pa not to see any need to rescind his punishment and just close enough to send him cowering under his blanket in the hay. He'd almost died of fright when he'd felt a hand on his arm.

"Thought you could use some company." his older brother Hoss had said as he settled next to his little brother.

"I'm alright." Joe said. Now that he wasn't alone, it was a lot easier to deny having been afraid.

"First storm of the summer. It's about time. Maybe now it won't be so hot out no more."

"So what'll you use for an excuse not to mend those fences then?" Joe asked.

"I'll think of something."

"I don't think you minded the heat. I think you were just being lazy."

"Lazy, is it? Just wait 'til you're out of school and see how you like working all day." Hoss had reached for Joe to put him in a headlock, but Joe, knowing Hoss' move, slid out of the way and jumped on top of his older, and much larger, brother. It was enough to send the two of the rolling in the hay until finally Hoss succeeded in pinning Joe down. It was the way their wrestling matches always ended, and probably always would, but Joe still fantasized about one day beating him. As they both lay in the hay, looking up at the boards of the roof, Joe glanced over at his brother.

"Hey, Hoss?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't tell Pa or Adam I was scared, ok?"

"Sure, little brother."

It was one of hundreds of secrets they shared, secrets that ranged from Joe's first kiss with Mary Swan to accidentally breaking a bottle of expensive brandy that Pa had bought for an important visitor. That secret had ended up involving Adam too as neither he nor Hoss had had enough money to replace the bottle. Joe remembered not wanting to tell Adam, the look on his older brother's face, the lecture, and the reluctant departure to Virginia City, leaving him and Hoss to sweat it out until Adam came back. Neither of them had thought he would make it in time, but he had, galloping into the yard not five minutes before dinner.

Joe didn't know whether to frown or grin as he remembered dropping on his knees to thank Adam. 'I told him I owed him my life.' He remembered. Adam had just playfully smacked him on the side of the head and pushed past him to get washed up. Joe wondered where that brother had gone. Then again, where had the playful kid gone too?

If only people didn't have to grow up. Back when he was a kid, he'd been comfortable with himself and everyone else. Life was clear and easy. But lately he had seemed to hit some sort of wall, and he didn't know how to get around it.

'I guess running away from it isn't the best answer.' Joe decided. He thought of Morgan in the hotel earlier. Too stubborn to admit a mistake and go back. That was him. Any time he made a mistake, he would much rather forge ahead and deal with the consequences, even though more often than not that was more painful than just going back and fixing it. But going forward didn't seem to be an option this time. Joe pictured in his mind what it would be like to go back and apologize to Adam. That was a conversation he'd just as soon avoid. Too bad it was one he'd have to face.

"Alright." He said aloud to whatever angel was on his shoulder bothering him. "It wasn't the smartest move anyway." He'd been feeling that for a couple of days, but it took Morgan calling him out on his pride to convince him to just face the facts. Joe stood up. He wasn't going to get any sleep anyway; he might as well get some miles under his belt.

He climbed out of the hayloft the way he'd come and jumped lightly down into the street. It was empty; the half moon lit up closed doors and blank windows. Joe glanced down the street towards the west. A yearning rose up in him to see the city his mother had lived in and the places she'd told him about, but he turned away. Someday he'd go there; at the moment, there was only one road for him. He turned east and walked through the town until the buildings fell behind him. The road to Carson City rose up in front to meet his feet as he walked. A soft wind skirted around his face, enough to keep the tree branches rustling. At first Joe kept turning to see if someone was there, but eventually he accepted the rustlings for what they were: simple sounds of the night. The moon cast only enough light to see the road, nothing else, but for some reason, Joe liked it that way. The darkness seemed to surround him like a blanket, comforting rather than menacing. Every once in a while he glanced up at what stars he could see through a few clouds. They seemed to point the way home.

He walked for several hours before his feet started to stumble. Then he went a little distance off the road, fumbling around in the dark until he found a tree to lean against. Within minutes, he was asleep.

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It was a long, jolting ride from Billings Montana to Virginia City. The fact that the stage had been packed almost to the brim hadn't helped, and when Ben Cartwright stepped out of it at the end of his journey, he felt like he'd been cramped down to half his size. He stretched his weary muscles and looked around for one of his sons. Instantly his gaze landed on his second son, Hoss, and very easily the largest man in the comstock. Ben stepped forward with a smile that faded when he saw the worried look on Hoss' round and normally gentle face.

"Hi, Pa." Hoss said.

"Hoss." Ben waited for Hoss to say whatever was wrong.

"How was the trip?"

"Hoss, what's wrong?" Ben cut to the chase.

"Well, I wanted to give you a couple minutes to relax before lettin' you know. But I guess you'd want to know right away."

"Know what?" Scenarios flashed through Ben's mind. The house burning down, robbery, one of his other sons being injured. "Tell me, Hoss."

"Yessir. Well, you see, it's like this… Joe's gone."

Ben's mind somehow couldn't process what Hoss was saying. "Gone? Gone where?"

"Just gone. Here, I'll explain to you on the way home, Pa. The buckboard's right over here." Hoss tried to guide his father to the buckboard, but Ben shook him off.

"Go home? Shouldn't we see the sheriff?"

"Not that kind of gone, Pa. He's… well, he's up and run away."

Ben felt as though as horse had kicked him in the stomach. He clutched Hoss' shoulder. "When? Why?"

"You know how he and Adam get after each other, Pa." Hoss said uncomfortably as he led the way to the buckboard and Ben unnoticingly followed. "Well they kept at it while you were gone, and one thing led to another, and they got in a fight. I don't even rightly know what it was about, I just come home to them two rolling on the floor trying to beat the tar out of each other. After I pulled them apart, Little Joe took off. Adam and I figured he just needed to cool off, but we ain't seen him since."

"When was this?"

"Three days ago. We asked around and found out he'd gotten on the stage to San Francisco. We wired out there to see about having someone stop him, and Adam went out there himself. I'd just checked the telegraph office before the stage came in."

"And?"

"He's on his way back." Hoss looked down, and his voice dropped. "He didn't mention if Joe was with him."

"Right." Ben felt lightheaded as he gripped the side of the buckboard. Hoss seemed to sense his tension.

"I… I'm sorry Pa. I know you told Adam and me to keep an eye on him."

"It's not your fault, Hoss." Ben said absentmindedly. As they drove toward the Ponderosa, he cast about in his mind for something to think of other than his youngest son alone and likely starving to death in San Francisco.

_**Please review!**_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Joe woke to a rough arm heaving him to his feet. Out of habit Joe raised his fist, but the metal click of a gun being cocked made him freeze. His mind whirled. Was he really being robbed? He had all of fourteen cents on him. Then he saw the badge on the vest of the man with the gun.

"Easy now, kid. No sudden moves, hear?"

"Sure. And would you mind telling me what this is about?" Joe tried not to sound too irritated.

"It's about the Placerville store being robbed last night and you having the money."

"I didn't…" Joe saw the one who had grabbed him, a tall grey-haired man – fumbling with a small cloth sack. "I don't have the money."

"Then what's this?" the grey-haired man asked. He shoved a handful of money under Joe's nose.

"That's not mine."

"I should say not."

"I meant…"

"Hold it." The sheriff's flat tone made Joe and the grey-haired man snap their mouths shut. "That money was sitting right here where you were sleeping. Clay, how much is there?"

"Two thousand."

"Alright, kid, who else was with you?"

"What?"

"Who'd you split the money with? There must have been two other people. Tell us who they were and we'll go easy on you."

Joe blinked several times as he tried to process what was happening. "I can't tell you because I wasn't there."

"Alright, if that's the way you want it. Come on." The sheriff gestured with his gun for Joe to walk.

"Where?" Joe knew the answer.

"Back to town. The circuit judge will be around in about a week for your trial."

"But I didn't do anything!" Part of his mind knew they wouldn't believe him, but the rest couldn't resist throwing out another protest. He repeated it when the sheriff escorted him into the Placerville jail.

"You can try to convince them of that at your trial." He said as he locked the door.

"Damn it!" Joe kicked at the cot after the sheriff went back into the outer office. How in the world did he have such a knack for getting into trouble?

"I'm never setting foot off the Ponderosa again." He vowed. If he could get back there, that was. The only way he could see that happening was by bringing in some help.

"This'll be good." He muttered. "Hey! Sheriff! I have a question!" He banged on the wall with his fist. "Hello!"

"What?" the sheriff half opened the door and glared at him.

"Can you send a telegram?"

"For what?"

"I need to send one to my Pa." Joe ignored the mental image of his father's face when he got this particular telegram. Yet another conversation he would have been completely happy to avoid. "Look, I've got the right to representation, don't I?"

"Yes, but do you have the money?"

"No, you took it all." Bad thing to say. The sheriff started to close the door. "Wait! Please?" Joe pulled his 'innocent' look, the one he usually used on his Pa to stay out of trouble. The sheriff wavered.

"Look, I'm fifteen, and I'm all alone in this town. I just want my Pa to be with me right now." He let his voice crack in the last sentence and then held his breath as the sheriff pondered.

"Alright." The sheriff tossed him a pencil and paper. "I've got some things to take care of, but I'll send it when I get back."

"Thanks." Joe grabbed the writing supplies like they were a lifeline to a man drowning. Then he sat on the cot and tried to decide what to say. Better not to mention that he was in jail. Instead he wrote: IN PLACERVILLE IN TROUBLE STOP SEE SHERIFF STOP JOE.

"Well, that oughta be effective anyway." Joe muttered. He folded the paper and set it on the floor then he leaned back against the wall. An instant later he was up and pacing.

"You do something wrong, you get away with it; you try to fix it, you get arrested for robbery." He felt like smashing something. Unfortunately there was nothing around to break, unless it was his hand if he wanted to punch the wall. He didn't think the sheriff would appreciate it if Joe broke his pencil, and it was probably worth trying to get into the sheriff's good graces, if that was possible.

"Joe Cartwright, you are in trouble." he said aloud.

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The stage was late. Or at least it seemed that way to Ben and Hoss Cartwright as they waited tensely in the dusty street of Virginia City.

"Probably time to go in and have a beer." Hoss would mutter, more because he felt the need to say anything than because he wanted to leave his post.

Ben pulled out the telegram from Adam and read it again, as if he could find some hint in the short message as to the fate of his son.

"Figure it'll be another couple of minutes." Hoss mumbled, squinting up at the sun. Ben didn't feel the need to reply. A rattle of wheels made them both start and crane their necks to peer down 'C' street, but it was only a wagon driven by a farmer, probably coming into town to get some supplies. Ben resisted the urge to pace back and forth along the street.

"They'll be along soon, Pa." Hoss said, unconsciously using the plural form of the word. Ben didn't seem to notice.

Hoss leaned back against the hitching post, trying to appear relaxed. His pa was tense as a fishing line, and it was contagious. He rubbed his horse's neck, allowing the animal's calm presence to give him a reprieve. Chubb glanced at Hoss as if to ask why they were standing around so irritated.

"Not too much longer now, son." Hoss murmured to his horse. At least he hoped that was true. He glanced up at the sun again. It was past noon, and past the time the stage was due.

"Maybe I oughta ride out and see what's keeping them." he said.

For the first time all morning his Pa seemed to actually hear what Hoss had said. But he shook his head.

"I"m sure they'll be along in a couple of minutes." he said.

"Sure, Pa." Hoss shifted his weight to his other foot. What was taking the stage so long anyway?

Then, finally, they heard the noise of the horses pulling the stage down the street. Instantly Ben and Hoss were walking out to meet it, and they were at the door before the driver even had time to jump down. Ben stepped backward as an older man descended.

"Sorry." he said. The next passenger out was Adam. One glance behind him told Ben all he needed to know. His heart sank.

Adam shook his head. "He wasn't there. He never arrived."

"But he got on the stage, Adam." Hoss insisted.

"He got off at a waystation. The driver said he told him he'd forgotten something and would catch the next stage back. I asked at the station and they said he'd set off on foot." Adam ran his hand through his hair. It had been a wasted trip in more ways than one. He was tired, not only from the trip, but also from the lack of results. And now he'd had to tell his father that his youngest son was nowhere to be found, and most likely on foot in the wilderness. "I'm sorry, Pa."

Ben inhaled and took in his eldest son. Worry was etched in lines onto his high brow and in his dark eyes, which were surrounded by shadows from lack of sleep. He put a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Let's get you home. You can get a hot meal and a bath while we figure out what to do next."

"Yes, sir." Adam climbed into the buckboard after Ben, and Hoss mounted. He reached down to pat Chubb's shoulder.

"Heading back to dinner and a stable full of hay. At least one of us is satisfied."

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Adam found Pa on the porch that night, watching twilight set in. He stood next to his father, unsure of what to say, so he let the chirping sounds from the first few crickets prevail. Finally Ben broke the silence.

"It's not your fault, Adam."

"I shouldn't have been so hard on him."

"You both rub against each other."

"He's a kid. I should have known better." Adam had already been kicking himself all the way to San Francisco and back for not going after Joe that night, but having someone to admit that to somehow made it easier. "Anyone could see he was already wound up about something, even before I got after him. I thought it was just growing pains."

"Who's to say it wasn't?" Ben turned to face the profile of his son, who was staring off into the settling darkness. "Everyone goes through their own process of growing up. He'll come around."

Adam glanced at his father, half afraid of what he might say next. "You just want to leave it?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm going to ride around a little tomorrow and see if I can find anything. If I can't..." Ben exhaled. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to say, but he knew it was all he could do. "If I can't find him, then we'll just have to wait."

"Just wait?"

"Just wait. He'll be back, Adam. I can guarantee that."

Adam couldn't believe his pa was so confident. "How?" he stammered.

"The dirt of the Ponderosa is in his blood, just like it's in your and Hoss'. It may run a little less deep because he's younger and hasn't poured as much of his own sweat into it, but it's still there. And he's like his mother." A soft grin came over Ben's face, and for an instant it was like he could see his dead wife there in front of them. "She would argue and put up a fight; you couldn't convince her, and you couldn't coerce her; you just had to wait until she made up her mind. And once she did, it was made up, and she be with you one hundred percent."

Adam still wasn't so sure. And he didn't want to say what he was thinking. Instead he turned away and walked to the other end of the porch. There in the darkness, one question drowned out all the others: what if something happened before Joe ever had the chance to make up his mind? Pa was right, they couldn't very well drop everything at the ranch to go looking for someone who didn't want to be found, but the thought of his little brother on his own just didn't sit well with Adam at all.

**MJ2109 - Glad I peaked your interest, but I'm afraid you'll just have to wait and see! Thanks for reviewing!**

**kyolover16 - Thanks for the review, and I'll work on getting the rest up as soon as I can.**

**megfurtado - I'm afraid you'll have to wait and see; I can't give everything away, or no one would read it! Thanks for reviewing!**

**BonanzaFan: Hope this is soon enough for you; gotta love the weekends when I have nothing to do but write. Thanks for the review!**

**Tauna Petit-Strawn - Yeah, unfortunately, I don't want him going home quite yet, regardless of whether or not he swallows his pride :) Thanks for the review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The week dragged by. Some of the church ladies, when they heard how young he was, came to bring him food, but other than that he was pretty much alone, except for the store owner, who came in and identified Joe as a customer the night of the robbery.

"And he was in the store when I mentioned how much money I had there." He told the sheriff while shooting a glare at Little Joe from underneath thick, black eyebrows. Joe didn't answer. He was slowly getting the picture that the more he tried to defend himself, the worse it made him look, and if he'd said anything at that particular moment, he wouldn't have been able to stop hollering. So he kept his mouth shut and tried to look adorable and lonesome when the church ladies brought him food. In all honesty though, he felt like a caged animal at a circus to be pitied by some and spit on by others.

And still there was no word from his Pa. That was what had more worried than anything else. Maybe he should have mentioned he was in jail. For all he knew, Pa might have decided that his youngest son needed the lesson and was going to leave him to get out of whatever mess he was in by himself. But when Joe asked the sheriff if he could send another telegram, all the got was a sharp no. It was all he could do to fight the rising panic down. Pa would come. He was probably on his way now. And if he didn't, well, he'd be able to manage. Sure things looked bad, but they would have to hear the truth in his story.

The night before the trial, Little Joe gave up. He'd have to face this alone.

Then the day of the trial arrived. No matter what the outcome, he was glad it was here. Anything was better than pacing for endless hours in the small cell, chafing at his inability to tell his side of the story to anyone who could do anything. In spite of his resignation that he'd have to go through the trial on his own, Joe spent all morning listening for the sound of the door crashing open and his Pa's baritone voice demanding to know what was going on. Just in case. But it never happened, and soon the sound he heard was the rattle of keys and the sheriff entering.

"Time, kid."

Joe stood. His mouth had suddenly gone dry, and he followed the sheriff to the courthouse in silence feeling like he was dragging a boulder that got heavier and heavier with each step.

It looked like the entire town was inside the tiny courthouse. The sheriff gave Joe a light push into his seat, and he resisted the urge to turn around and face the people behind him whose whispers filled the courtroom with the loud rumble of indistinctive chatter.. For some reason having all those people staring at the back of his head made him feel like a deer being watched by a hundred wolves who were hungry for revenge. Joe closed his eyes and sent up a brief prayer, just in case God was listening. The sound of a gavel made him open his eyes again.

The judge banged the gavel again and waited for silence. Joe studied him, taking in his short nose in the center of his round face and blue eyes. White hair framed a shiny bald head. He looked like a man who had spend his life studying and watching rather than doing. Joe felt his stomach twist into an uneasy knot.

The judge banged the gavel a final time, and the whispering petered out into silence.

"We're here today for the trial of Joe Cartwright, who is accused of stealing six thousand dollars from the general store owned by Carl Manning. How do you plead?"

Joe stood, every wolf eye turned upon him. He cleared his throat. "Not guilty."

The judge stared at him for a moment, as if he was seeing Joe for the first time. Joe stared back, steadily holding his gaze. The judge nodded. "Have a seat, lad."

As Joe at, he realized that he was shaking. Every muscle in his body seemed to have gone limp. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself and release some of the tension in his stomach. But as the prosecuting lawyer called his first witness, the tension grew, and his stomach continued to twist with every word that was spoken. For the first time, Joe realized just how much was stacked against him. He'd been in the store at the wrong time and had heard about the money. Then he was with the money, as he tried to leave town. The place where he'd been sleeping was hidden from the road, so it looked like he was trying to avoid detection. Carl Manning said he noticed that Joe seemed short on money when he'd bought the food from him. The evidence was all there, and all Joe had was his own word saying that he was innocent. Only every time he said it, it sounded weaker and weaker, even to his own ears. When the judge asked him for his final statement, Joe rose and turned to face the town members. He inhaled a deeply a he could and then let it out slowly. Inwardly he was squirming beneath the looks of hatred and sympathy. Most of these people wouldn't even be effected by the results of this trial; they just wanted to see someone pay the price to Lady Justice, and he was supposed to convince them to be on his side? It seemed impossible, but he figured it was better to try than to take this sitting down.

"Look, I know I'm a stranger here," he began. "and I know none of you care what happens to me; you just want your money back. And the fact that I can't tell you where the rest of it is probably isn't helping endear myself to you. If I knew where the money was, I would tell you. But I don't." Joe forced himself to meet their carnivorous eyes, praying they would see the truth in his own. "I came here because I was leaving my home, and then last night I decided to go back, so I set out. The reason I was sleeping where I was is because it seemed like a good enough place after fumbling around in the dark. When I woke up, the money was there beside me. All I can think is that someone else robbed the store and tossed some of the money down beside me to make it look like I was responsible and to divert suspicion." He was talking too fast, sounding too desperate. Joe took another long, ragged breath. "I just need you to believe me. I know I'm asking you to put your faith in a complete stranger, but I promise you, I didn't rob that store. I can't back it up with evidence; all I have is the truth." Joe glanced at the judge and then sat down. He felt no response from the crowd; it was like he had been talking to himself.

"We'll have a recess while the jury deliberates." the judge said. Immediately the townspeople began talking, filling the room with murmurs and snatches of conversation.

"Come on." the sheriff took Joe's arm and helped him to his feet, not unkindly, but definitely not in a friendly manner. "Back to the jail to wait."

The crowd parted in front of him like he had leprosy. Joe kept his eyes focused on the door as he walked through the people. When he was back in his cell, Joe nearly collapsed on the cot. He didn't think he'd swayed one person to his side, but for all that, he still couldn't picture himself being found guilty. Maybe it was a misplaced faith in human nature. Joe leaned his head on his hands. The sheriff found him in the exact same position half an hour later.

"You just might make out with a prison sentence instead of hanging." he said as he unlocked the door. Joe didn't look up. "That judge... I reckon he didn't realize how young you were. He'll probably let you off with fifteen years or so."

"Lucky me." Joe muttered. This time when they entered the courtroom, the crowd instantly hushed. Joe had to try several times before he was able to swallow. Once again, he was a deer, or maybe a small mouse, mesmerized by a rattlesnake about to strike. He felt mesmerized as the judge began to speak. The words seemed to enter his head and swirl around a while before they settled and he could finally understand them.

"Has the jury reached a decision?" the judge asked.

"We have." the jury member stood. Joe knew what it was before he said it. There was only one decision they could have made in so short a time. Even so, he felt like he'd been stabbed in the gut when the man said, "Guilty."

Instantly the courtroom came alive with whispered exclamations. The judge banged his gavel several times before there was silence. Joe felt numb, like he'd taken a dive into an icy river. His mind dizzily grabbed onto the judge's words, trying to make sense of them.

"Joe Cartwright, this court has found you guilty of theft. Since you were unwilling to reveal the names of your compatriots and aid in the recapture of the rest of the money, I'm forced to give you a harsher sentence. However, because of you youth and your apparent need, I'm not going to have you hung. Instead, I'm sentencing you to ten years at San Quentin State Prison. Court dismissed."

The room flared to life and noise, but Joe couldn't hear any of it. He didn't even feel the sheriff's hand on his arm, dragging him to his feet. The room spun at crazy angles, and it was all he could do to walk out without running in to anything. Beside him, the sheriff rambled.

"What'd I tell you? Ten years ain't so bad." he punched Joe lightly on the arm, almost making him fall over. "If it'd been me, I'da hanged you, but the judge, he's got a soft spot for kids."

Joe stumbled back into the cell, reached for the bucket in the corner and threw up. At least that seemed to restore some of his sanity, and his previously numbed mind started racing. He put his head in his hands and didn't even bother trying to process the thoughts whizzing like bullets through his brain. Guilty. Convicted. He was going to jail. For ten years. Ten years? He'd be twenty five when he got out! How could he explain ten years of being gone to Pa?

Pa. Joe gritted his teeth against a sudden welling of tears. Why hadn't he come? He wouldn't just turn his back on his son, would he? Joe realized painfully that in a way he himself had turned his back on his own family. But he hadn't realized what he was doing, and he'd been planning on going back.

The image of his father rose in front of his mind's eye, followed by that of his brothers. Despite their differences, all had the grim determined Cartwright look that he knew he had as well. He couldn't believe that they would leave him alone when he'd asked for help. Sure, maybe if he hadn't asked or maybe if they thought that it wasn't anything serious they would leave him in a mess of his own making, but there was no way that if they thought he was in danger they would abandon him. Not Pa, not Hoss, not Adam. So why hadn't they come?

"Get a good night's sleep; we're leaving first thing in the morning." The sheriff entered with a tray of food. He unlocked the cell door and slid it inside. "Enjoy your last good meal for while." He smirked as he locked the door. Joe's eyes narrowed.

"Wait. Did you send my telegram?" he demanded. He stood and gripped the bars of the cell door. The sheriff's face was expressionless.

"What difference does it make? Your Pa didn't come." He left without looking back, and Joe slid to the floor. His mind told him he should eat something; the sheriff hadn't been lying about the food anyway, but he didn't think he could manage to swallow. His stomach felt like it was being squeezed into a ball.

He forced himself to choke down the food and then curled up on the cot with his knees drawn up to his chest. The sheriff had gone home for the night, but Joe still refused to give in to the tears burning behind his eyelids. He dragged his mind away from thoughts of home and tried to picture New Orleans the way his mother had described it. A city of music and colors, she'd said. Just as full of life as a meadow on a summer day. Joe wished he'd gotten to see it just once. He wondered now if he ever would.

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San Qunetin State Prison was a large building that seemed to rise out of the ocean itself, looming over the land like a tidal wave that threatened to crash down on the ground below. Joe felt a shiver pass over him as they rode through the gates. They shut behind him with an unceremonious thud. He glanced back. Already it seemed like the world had closed in on him.

"Sheriff." A lean man in a suit came forward to meet them. "That the prisoner you wired me about?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Estell. Joseph Cartwright." He dismounted and nearly pulled Joe off his horse. Joe steadied himself by holding on to the saddle.

_You try dismounting with your hands tied together._ He wanted to say.

"We'll take him from here. Just need you to sign a couple papers in my office. I'll meet you there."

"Alright." The sheriff walked away without looking at Joe. Joe wondered how he could so easily consign someone to years in this place without a backwards glance.

"Agnell!" the warden called. The man that stepped forward sent a shiver up Joe's spine. He wore his mouth twisted in a wry grin that made Joe think of a polecat leering at its prey. As he strode forward, Joe noticed a bullwhip on his belt. The guard's calloused hand rested on the handle from habit.

"Yes, sir?"

"Search the prisoner and take him to the lower cell block."

"Yes, sir. Raise your arms."

Joe did as he was told, and Agnell slapped down his sides. Then he gave Joe a slight push. "Inside."

As Joe walked, he felt like he was entering a different world. Light streamed from windows high above, but then the windows disappeared, and all that was left was the dingy light cast from gas lamps. Agnell unlocked a door and pushed him inside. Instantly his nose was assaulted by the smell of rot and human feces. Joe tried to breathe through his mouth as he glanced around the dimly lit room that didn't look like it was longer than a hundred feet in either direction. There were several blankets scattered around the floor, and only a couple of chairs. A blanket had been hung in one corner to cut it off from the rest of the room. The couple dozen men inside stared at him with calculating eyes that made him want to shrink into the straw covered floor.

"New man, men. Don't be too rough on him." Agnell shouted just before closing the door. Somehow his words made Joe's heart sink even more.

"New man?" someone muttered. "More like new boy."

Joe didn't care anymore. He looked around for somewhere to sit, but the group of prisoners crowded around him. For a moment he felt like shrinking back then he straightened and glared back.

Someone stepped forward, a tall man that made Joe think of a black bear. He held out a hand.

"Name's Blackie."

"Joe Cartwright."

"Nice to meet ya." He said and then lifted his fist and brought it down on the side of Joe's head. He went tumbling sideways.

Instantly the rest of the prisoners were on top of him. Joe could barely see through the arms and legs, but he still tried to hit back. Only it seemed that for every punch he made, five more followed. Eventually he gave up and used his arms to shield his head. Then he felt himself being lifted up off the ground by the back of his collar. Joe stared through eyes that were beginning to swell at the round nose of the man who'd started it. Blackie didn't say anything; he just sent his fist into Joe's stomach a couple of times and then dropped him. Joe laid waiting for another onslaught, but none came. He looked up. The crowd had dispersed, splitting up into various groups and completely ignoring him. Joe let his head fall back onto the floor.

"Don't take it personally."

"Excuse me?" Joe squinted up at a man with a patch over one eye.

"It's an initiation. Sure it'll be hell for you for a while, but you get used to it."

"Thanks." Joe muttered. The floor smelt like rotting garbage, but he didn't have the energy to get up. He propped himself against the rough clay wall.

The prisoner leaned over Joe. "Name's Lucky. So what're you in for?"

"Stupidity."

Lucky laughed and slapped Joe on the shoulder, causing him to wince.

"Ain't we all? You keep an attitude like that and you may survive yet."

"Great. What I always wanted to add to my list of accomplishments."

"Don't get too high and mighty, kid. We're all stuck here."

"Yeah, but I didn't even do what got me in here."

"Sure. Everybody's innocent." He leaned in so close that the smell of the floor vanished behind the smell of his breath. Joe's eyes traveled from his broken, yellow teeth up to the one eye he had left, grey and unblinking. "But you're in here all the same, ain't ya?"

Joe nodded. That was true; he was stuck. Maybe stuck for good. After all, what could Pa do now that he'd been tried and convicted, if he even decided to do anything at all? The thought struck Joe harder than any of the inmates' fists had.

"Keep your chin up though." Lucky didn't seem to realize that Joe's thoughts had moved on. "One of these days another newcomer'll arrive, and they'll start to pick on him instead."

"Sure." Joe brought his mind back to the present. "I bet they didn't beat you up when you arrived though."

"Ya think?" He winked – or blinked; it was hard to tell since he could only see one eye – and moved on. Joe slumped farther against the wall and closed his eyes as he willed the smell and sounds and aching of his body to the back of his mind. Instead he tried to focus on home, the smell of grass under the sun overlooking Lake Tahoe. He was sitting in the grass, getting his pants slightly wet from the morning dew that still hadn't dried, and there was a slight breeze. The waves were lapping against the shore, lulling him into a sun-warmed daze. He could hear Hoss shouting as he caught a fish and thought about how good it would taste once Hop Sing cooked it up. His stomach rumbled, and instantly Joe was back in the prison. He let his head fall back against the wall and then flinched as he hit a sore spot.

**Tauna Petit-Strawn - That he does. And I know how to help him along the way, unfortunately for him :) Thanks for reviewing!**

**BonanzaFan - Here's another update, just for you! Thanks for reviewing!**

**megfurtado - OK, OK, OK! Nice to know I'm keeping you on the edge of your seat. Thanks for the review!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The next day he was woken up from his cramped position along the wall by a bang on the door. Instantly the prisoners began to line up. As Joe rolled over and followed suit, every muscle in his body protested.

"What's going on?" he muttered to no one in particular.

"Going out to the quarry."

Joe turned to face the prisoner behind him. He hadn't expected an answer.

"Just keep moving." The prisoner said. "No matter what."

"Thanks." The word came out as a question.

"You'll see."

Joe sighed. Great, more surprises.

They were marched out of the prison and down to a small dock. Joe squinted in the bright morning light. His eyes had already grown accustomed to the dimness of the prison. As they were loaded onto the waiting boat, he took a deep breath of the salty air, a welcome change from the putrid air he'd been breathing all night.

_I guess I made it to San Francisco after all._ Too bad no one would be looking for him here now.

"Down below." Agnell kept a sharp eye on the prisoners, gun in hand, as they went into the boat. Joe took one last gulp of the clean, open air and then followed the rest of the prisoners to the hold. No one spoke until the hatch opened again and they filed out. Joe just followed the man in front of him, wondering what would happen next.

"Here." one of the guards handing out tools gave him a pickaxe. "But don't get ay smart ideas. Pickaxes ain't much good against guns."

"Hey, kid." one of the prisoners grabbed his pickaxe. "This one's mine." he gave Joe his and walked off. Joe hefted the slightly heavier tool over his shoulder and followed the group down into the quarry.

"Just start chipping." someone called to him. Joe wondered if his face portrayed how clueless he was feeling.

"Here goes nothing." he muttered and took a swing at the rock wall. Then another. A couple dozen swings later, he was starting to sweat, and soon even the crisp sea breeze couldn't keep him cooled down. He paused to wipe the sweat off his brow and then flinched as a whip cracked behind him.

"Next time it'll be on you." the guard threatened. "No stopping."

"Sure." Joe kept swinging. Just like chopping wood, he told himself. You get into the rhythm, and you don't even notice anything anymore.

Unfortunately rock was proving to be harder than wood. Every time his pickaxe collided with the stone, it bounced back and rubbed against Joe's hands. The vibration traveled up his arms and settled as a dull ache in his shoulders. Eventually the ache progressed into a sharp pain. Joe glanced at the guards out of the corner of his eyes. They were watching, waiting for him to stop. He kept swinging. Soon his arms became numb, though his shoulders still throbbed. He struggled to keep a firm enough grip on the handle so that his raw hands didn't rub as much. A vibrant red caught his eye on the pickaxe handle, and he realized that his hands were bleeding freely. As Joe glanced around, he realized that many of the men had wrapped the pieces of cloth around their hands. Joe didn't dare stop to fix his mistake now. Too bad his hands would have to pay the price.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Joe's mouth began to taste more and more like stone dust. Sweat dripped freely down his face and burned into his eyes, and the back of his soaked shirt had rubbed his aching shoulders raw. Finally he heard the calls for lunch. His pickaxe fell to the ground, and Joe almost did the same, but he didn't think he'd be able to get up again. Instead he leaned against the rock for a minute before joining the line of prisoners.

"Only one cup of water each!" the guard shouted. "Unless you want to be drinking seawater!"

Joe gazed longingly at the full water barrel and dipped his cup in it. The water splashed on his hand and he nearly dropped his precious cup as his hand, which had grown numb, began to sting all over again.

As the guards distributed the food, Joe's heart sank. He hadn't been expecting much, but this was less than much, close to nothing. Bread and a small strip of dried meat. Joe found a rock to sit on when someone tapped his shoulder. He looked up into the face of Blackie.

"Your water." the half giant held out his hand.

"What? No, this is..." Joe caught a glimpse of Blackie clenching his fist and exhaled. "Here." As Blackie walked away Joe shut his eyes against the hopelessness that welled up in him. It had suddenly occurred to him that he might not survive ten years here.

"At least he didn't take your lunch too." a voice behind him said. Joe didn't turn. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone or to be mocked.

"I was going to myself, but I figured, cut the boy some slack, you know?" Joe glanced at the prisoner who looked to be half Mexican. The man grinned and pushed back the wild black curls that hovered over his forehead. "Nimble Jimmy. And if you want my advice, you'll drink your water the second you get it from now on. Your food too. We live like animals, no? Wolf it down." Despite his grim words, he didn't seem all that depressed. Joe glanced at his ankles, which were shackled together.

"What's that for?"

"I'm Nimble Jimmy, that's what. I've escaped from five different prisons before this one."

"Decided to stay here?"

"I'm working on it." Jimmy cocked his head as the guards started getting the prisoners up. "Back to work now. How'd you like the pickaxe?"

"Oh, loads of fun."

"You'll like hauling rocks even more then."

At first Joe was confused, but then he saw that the crews had switched, and the ones who had been breaking the rocks in the morning would now be hauling them clear. Joe looked regretfully at his shirt and then ripped the sleeves off and wrapped them around his bloody hands. There was no way they would survive otherwise.

Since he was small, Joe was given a wheelbarrow rather than having to carry the larger rocks. He didn't think it was that much better a deal, but clearly someone did because out of no where a prisoner came up and without a word took the wheelbarrow and rolled it away. Joe just shook his head in defeat. Ordinarily he would have fought, but he barely had enough energy to hold himself upright, much less try to knock another man off his feet.

The first rock he picked up felt like it weighed five hundred pounds. He struggled through the quarry to the rock pile, nearly tripping over the loose rubble multiple times. Joe tried to go for a smaller one for the next trip, but it still seemed too heavy.

"Hey!" the guard hollered at Joe as he grabbed his third and slightly smaller rock. "Leave the small ones for the wheelbarrows!"

Joe glanced down at the rock that was roughly twice the size of his brother Hoss's head. _You call that small?_ He wanted to ask. Instead he bit his parched tongue.

He felt like he must have worn a groove in the ground from the rubble to the pile walking back and forth. After the first few trips, he didn't think he could make his feet drag him any farther. Then when he stumbled and fell, a whip snapped on his flaming shoulder. Joe cried out and jumped to his feet.

"No breaks til quitting time." the guard snapped.

A thousand things entered Joe's head that he could say to this man. But he didn't.

_Just keep moving; no matter what._ He repeated to himself what he'd been told earlier.

When the guards called for time to quit, he barely realized it. His mouth was drier than he would have thought possible, and his arms felt limp as a boned fish. He stumbled on to the boat and closed his eyes as he leaned back against the wall. When he opened them, the first thing he noticed was that his hands had bled right through the rage. Joe gritted his teeth and began to unwrap them, one painful layer after another. Soon he felt like he was peeling his own flesh away as he pulled the blood soaked rags away. He couldn't even open and close his fingers. Maybe he should have left the rags on. They weren't good for much now, but Joe didn't want to rip up his shirt anymore. He had the feeling that they would still have to work the quarry in the winter, and he doubted clothes would be provided. He glanced around until he caught sight of the acquaintance he'd made earlier sitting a few rows down.

"Hey, Jimmy." his voice barely made it out of his parched throat. "Do we still work in the winter?"

"Rain or shine, snow or hail." someone muttered. Jimmy nodded in assent.

Joe settled back against the curved wall of the boat. He'd caught on to the a sense of resignation in the air. It was just another day to them, another day of whips and heavy labor with almost nothing in your stomach just like when they went back it would be another night of laying packed like sardines in a room that stank of their own waste. This wasn't some tragic hardship, this was life.

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Joe lowered his expectations even more when the supper cart rolled into the cell block. The prisoners lined up against the walls and the guards distributed the food one by one. Joe wrinkled his nose when he was handed a piece of hard bread and a filthy bowl half filled with a thin broth and a bit of potato skin floating in it. Joe couldn't resist the urge to sniff it. Make that rotten potato peel. He'd thought that after the day's work he'd put in he could eat anything. He'd been wrong. When someone tapped him on the shoulder he turned over his bread almost without a second thought. Somehow he knew if he refused he'd be facing down the entire cell block.

_Eat your food fast._ He remembered. Though he doubted anyone would want to steal the soup, he grimaced and tipped the bowl's contents into his mouth. It slid down his throat like soapy oil, and Joe nearly vomited it up again. He pressed a hand over his mouth and clenched his jaw until he felt it was safe to relax.

"You get used to the food, kid." Lucky said. Joe swallowed rapidly, trying to use his own saliva to erase the taste from his mouth.

"I wouldn't call it food." he muttered to no one. Lucky had moved on. Joe narrowed his eyes at his back, wondering why he hadn't seen him working in the quarry. Then he turned his mind to other things. His hands were a clear indicator that waiting to learn something after making a mistake wasn't going to cut it. If he'd been a little more observant, he could have saved himself a little bit of pain. It was the same with the food. Joe looked around. None of the prisoners seemed to have ripped off pieces of their shirts. So they must be getting the rags somewhere else. But where?

Joe glanced down at his blanket and then the blanket next to him. The other one was smaller and seemed to have frayed edges. Did they replace blankets? They must, Joe decided. He quickly ripped off some strips of the scratchy fabric. That was one mystery solved. It was a small victory, but Joe let himself take pleasure in it. After all, he had to find something to smile about in here.

Joe looked around the cell block again. Prisoners were talking to each other, a couple were playing checkers with a homemade set, others were using cards someone had had in their pocket when they were arrested. There was a strange attitude that permeated the place though. Joe struggled to put his finger on it. Resignation? It seemed like everyone was content enough here. There wasn't the yearning for freedom that he thought he would encounter. Or if there was, it carefully contained.

_So no daydreaming about home._ Joe decided. Sure, one day he would go home; he had vowed that to himself, but it was no good focusing on home when survival should be first and foremost in his mind. He took a deep breath and pictured the Ponderosa before him. He imagined his favorite spot overlooking the lake and then thought about sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace after a long day. He imagined the faces of Hop Sing, then his brothers, and lastly, his Pa. And as each image faded, he let it go, like a man studying a picture before burning it. The memory would be there, but the dream would have to go. Here and now was what mattered. Joe opened his eyes, realizing for the first time that there were tears on his cheeks. He glanced around before wiping them off, but no one had noticed. Then the lights went out, and men cursed as they tripped over each other on their way to their blankets Joe lay in the darkness and decided that one thing was certain: if the judge that had sent him here thought that he was going to break him, he clearly didn't know Joe Cartwright. He would defeat this place if it took everything he had. Then he would go back to Placerville someday and find the man who actually did rob the store. And every cut and bruise and injury that he got here, Joe would take out of that man's hide.

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That second morning he had woken up and been unable to move. Every muscle in his body seemed to be frozen. Then someone kicked him, and it seemed to snap things back into place. He stood wobbly in line to get their morning bread before heading out to the quarry. The second he got it, he stuffed it in his mouth. When there was a tap on his shoulder, Joe shrugged and continued chewing the last of it. At first he thought the prisoner would hit him, but he didn't let the fear show in his eyes as he stared him down. When the prisoner left him alone, he allowed himself a slight grin. He would beat these men at their own game yet.

There was nothing he could do about the tools, but he watched the other prisoners work and noticed the shortcuts they took. Like making wider and slower swings with the pickaxe and picking up long skinny rocks that, when carried at the right angle, looked larger than they were. He noticed that there was a certain pace used by the prisoners, not so slow that the guards whipped you – as he learned the hard way – but slow enough that it saved energy.

He used the same strategy from breakfast at lunch with his water, and while Jimmy Nimble stole his meat, he clapped him on the back.

"Getting smarter I see." he gestured toward Joe's wrapped hands.

"Why doesn't Lucky have to work out here?" Joe asked. He couldn't imagine that the guards took pity on him because he was old and missing an eye.

Jimmy chuckled. "He's a killer and they know it. Killed more than sixty men, but he's in for robbing a stage 'cuz they could never prove any of 'em. Those guards are all scared of him though. He can kill a man in a split second with his bare hands."

"But they'd shoot him if he killed someone."

"Doesn't really help the man he kills, does it? They prefer to keep him locked away where they can't get hurt."

"So he sits in the cell all day while we're out here." Joe murmured.

"Ain't life a joy? But it's the way it is."

"So what are you in for? I mean besides prison breaking." Joe asked.

"Got caught up on the wrong side of the law too many times. I can win at any card game, and not always honestly. When they locked me up the first time, I figured there was no reason to stay, so I left. Second time, well, it became a game then, almost as good as gambling. Then they put me in these..." he twitched a foot and the chains rattled. "I'll get out of 'em yet, but it's taking more time than I'd like. Still, at least the view's spectacular."

Jimmy's constant upbeat nature drew Joe to him every day at lunch, even though he always stole Joe's meat, no matter how fast he tried to eat it. But he didn't mind; somehow having someone to talk to made it worth missing out on half his meal. Besides, either his stomach was shrinking or he was just getting used to being hungry. Either way, although the hollow feeling in his core never really went away, he found himself able to ignore it most of the time.

"So when do I get to keep my meat?" Joe asked Jimmy one day.

"When I get someone else to steal it from." Jimmy said flippantly. "I'm sure someone will be along sometime."

"That's what Lucky said too. Then they can steal someone else's wheelbarrow." Joe muttered. Jimmy laughed.

"Just think how much muscle you're building, chico."

"I'm not building anything." Joe glanced at his arms. They were definitely shrinking.

"How far is it from here to the mainland?" he asked.

Jimmy instantly lowered his voice, the amused look on his face replaced by a more serious one. "Dangerous question. I wouldn't talk about it with a newcomer. No one would."

"I've been here almost two months."  
"And you're still a newcomer." Jimmy glanced at the guards as they started getting the prisoners back up. "Back to work."

Joe sighed and hauled himself to his feet. It had slowly ceased to amaze him how much he could make his body do when his brain was convinced it was impossible. The trick was to imagine himself as a puppeteer controlling someone else's body with his mind. You couldn't think about the pain or the weariness, you just ad to focus on the strings. He pushed Jimmy's mistrust to the back of his mind and grabbed his pickaxe.

Later that week, Jimmy and Lucky were proved right. One night just after supper, aother prisoner was dumped in the cell block with the same wild-eyed oblivious look that Joe thought must have been on his face. They called him Rat. He did kind of look right a rat, with small black eyes and a long, narrow nose. Joe only looked on when they beat him. It was pointless to try to stop it, but that didn't mean he had to take part in it.

"Too good to get your hands dirty?" Lucky stood beside him.

"Maybe I just don't see the point."

"Doesn't matter. They won't accept you as one of their own 'til you act like one of 'em."

"You don't join in." Joe pointed out.

Lucky let out what sounded like a cross between a snort and a laugh. "Boy, I've got about forty years on you and a hell of a lot more experience. None of those young rascals would even think of crossing me. You're just some half-whipped pup thrown to the wolves."

"So is he." Joe gestured to the young man who was hollering and rolling on the floor as he tried to dodge the fists.

"Pups gotta grow up quick in this place." Lucky muttered.

Joe didn't answer. He had a point; no one in the cell dared to mess with Lucky. He even had his own private room behind a blanket strung across a corner which they called 'Lucky's cell'. No one went back there except Lucky.

When the crowd disintegrated Joe didn't move. Lucky looked at him, scowling through his one eye.

"Well?"

"Well what? I thought you were going to give him the same speech you gave me." Joe gestured. "You first."

Lucky spat. "I don't have time to waste on you kids." He limped away.

Joe smiled slightly at how miffed Lucky was to have been deprived of his initial intimidation. It was probably the only thing he had to look forward to. Certainly he couldn't look forward to release. Just because they couldn't prove his killings didn't mean they were going to let him out again. In another lifetime, Joe would have been horrified at having such a casual conversation with a killer, but somehow it didn't seem to matter down here. It wasn't about right or wrong, it was about survival. Joe stood next to the new man and offered him a hand. Rat glared at it suspiciously, so Joe shrugged and sat next to him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the other men watching him and sensed that lines were being drawn. Well, too late to turn back now.

"Joe Cartwright." He didn't hold out his hand again.

"Rat, as you may have heard."

"That's not your real name."

"No? What's a real name? Anyone can call themselves anything and it's a name."

"Alright." Joe backed off, annoyed. If this kid was going to get all defensive, Joe wasn't going to risk his neck to try to make him feel at home. He stood.

"We go out every day to the quarry on Angel Island." He said. "It's hard work. Might want to get some rest."

**nwheaton: That he does. Sorry about leaving you hanging - it's kind of what I do :P**

**LittleJoe: Don't you know; it happened to you. Sorry, bad joke from you screen name... anyway, I'm glad you're enjoying the story!**

**MJ2901: Yep, he's in over his head this time. Thanks for reviewing!**

**kyolover16: Hmm, well... never mind; I'm not giving anything away :)**

**BonanzaFan: Ooh, I never thought of that. It would be quite a waste for him to wither away in jail... must add into calculations. **

**Tuana Petit-Strawn: Thanks; I'll try!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Just like magic, the heat was suddenly off Joe and turned on to Rat. Joe watched him struggle the first few days, just as he had, but he didn't offer help. He was slowly realizing that survival was something each prisoner had to learn for himself. So even though he didn't take part in the persistent bullying, he didn't try to stop it either. Make it through the first month, and you might have a chance of making it your whole sentence. There was no room for coddling.

"So what do you think of the newcomer?" one of the prisoners asked while they played cards one night about a week after Rat came. The stakes were high, up to almost five thousand dollars in fake cash, and Joe was losing. It didn't matter anyway, he knew better than to win. You had to have been in for at least a year before even thinking of having the nerve to win a poker game, so if he wasn't going to win, he might as well lose.

"Jumpy little fella." a prisoner named Sanders slapped down a card.

"Yeah. Have a hard time believing he's seventeen like he says."

"Everyone's a liar in here, Kirk." Blackie studied his cards and they all sat back. It always took Blackie a while to decide what to do with his hand. But for all that, he never won.

"He looks about thirteen." Kirk persisted. "Younger than you anyway, Cartwright. How old are you anyway?"

"Fifteen... no, sixteen." Joe had almost forgotten that he'd had a birthday. The day had come and gone the same as any other day, and Joe hadn't thought it worth celebrating or mentioning. But that night, he'd lain awake for hours remembering birthdays past. He was usually pretty good at keeping memories from haunting him, but on some nights, like that one, there was just nothing he could do to keep them out.

Joe glanced over at where Rat was sitting and looking forlorn. Part of him wanted to go over and talk to him, but another part knew it wouldn't help.

"Why do they always throw us the kids?" Sanders complained. I was hoping the next one would have a couple stories to toss out about what's going on in the world.

By that Joe knew he meant stories about women. It was one conversation topic that there was no taboo on. Tall, short, skinny, blonde, and bald, any story, description, or tall tale was welcomed.

"Remember when that George came in last year?" Kirk said. "Man, did he have some tales."

"Yeah." Sanders rested his elbows on the table and stared into space dreamily, unaware that Blackie could see all of his cards from the angle he was holding them. "We could use more men like George down here."

"He was all talk." Blackie said.

"At least he talked. All I ever get from you is stories about your old hound dog." Sanders snapped. Joe grinned and shook his head.

"I'm out." he said.

"So soon? You're lettin' us down, kid."

"Well, find a better player next time." He stood and walked over to Rat, unable to ignore the softer spot in his heart that hadn't quite calloused over yet.

"How're you doing?" he asked, sitting down next to him in the corner. Kirk was right; he could easily pass for thirteen. But his eyes belied his youthful face, aging him at least ten years.

"How do you think?" Rat snapped.

Joe glared at him. So he still hadn't gotten it yet. "I don't know. Probably not to well considering you're sitting here moping in the corner."

"What else am I supposed to do?" his voice carried a note of apathetic hopelessness. Any other time, Joe would've offered sympathy, but that just wasn't the way it worked down there.

"You know you've got two options when you walk through that gate." He said. Rat seemed to brace himself for a lecture that he was going to ignore, but Joe didn't care. Maybe some of what he said would sink through his thick skull. "You can figure out how to make the best of it and join them, even if it means licking someone's dirty boots, because you can't beat them. Or you can sulk and moan about how everyone picks on you and let it make you bitter until it kills you."

"I don't see you being beaten up and getting your food stolen."

"See that bear of a man over there?" Joe pointed to Blackie. "Nearly killed me my first week when I dropped a rock on his foot. And the man next to him with the brown hair? He hasn't let me use a wheelbarrow yet. And the man with the mustache..."

"Alright, I get it."

"Do you?" Joe stood. "Because it's no skin off my nose if you don't. I just thought I'd tell you it like it is."

"Well I'm grateful." Rat's tone indicated that he was anything but, and Joe walked away. He'd done his best.

"You think he'll listen to you?" Jimmy joined Joe on the other side of the room.

"No. But I felt like I had to try."

"You're still too soft, you know? Leastways Lucky says so."

"To heck with Lucky." Joe muttered, but he made sure it wasn't loud enough for anyone to hear but Jimmy.

"Yeah, we all hate the old geezer. But he is a legend after all. He was one of the first prisoners here before the place was even built."

"Where'd they put them if there wasn't a jail?" Joe asked.

"Set them afloat on a boat in the harbor called the Waban while they tried to figure out a good place to build the jail. The boat was only supposed to hold about fifty prisoners and there was nearly three times that. Then one night there was a storm and the ship dragged anchor and crashed right outside where we are now. Half the prisoners drowned, but they found clay to make bricks in the place where the ship crashed. They made the surviving prisoners build the jail themselves."

"Wow." Joe glanced over at the blanket hung over the corner with new respect. It didn't make him like the man any more, but it was an impressive story.

That night a whisper beside his head woke Joe up. He squinted in the darkness, trying unsuccessfully to see who had spoken.

"Cartwright." the voice came again.

"Rat?"

"Yeah."

"What?" Joe tried not to sound irritated. Sleep was the one time he could leave this place, at least mentally if not physically, and he didn't appreciate his escape being cut short.

"I... thanks."

"For what?"

"The advice. I'm used to having to stick up for myself, not submit to being treated like a dog."

"It's an interesting combination of both that you have to learn to do here."

"Could you teach me?"

Joe stifled a snort. "I'm just learning it myself."

"Oh."

Joe squirmed uncomfortably in the silence, feeling as though he'd kicked a puppy. He inwardly groaned. "I'll see what I can do to help you out though."

"Thanks."

"Sure." Joe rolled back over. What had he got himself into now?

000000000000000

"Storm coming." someone said as they stepped outside to go to the quarry. Joe glanced up at the grey sky.

"Great." He mumbled. As if carrying rocks all day wasn't enough, let's add a storm to it. Just what he needed. He wrapped his arms around himself as the wind seemed to whip right through him once they got on Angel Island.

_'Maybe it'll wait to rain until tonight.'_ He thought. It turned out to be wishful thinking. Just before lunch, the heavens opened and dumped icy water down on guards and prisoners alike. Instantly everyone was soaked. As he walked rocks to the pile, Joe could barely see in front of him through the torrent.

_'If the guards can't see us, they'll have to call us in.'_ Or so he hoped. But as the hours dragged by, and the rain continued to pour down, the guards showed no sign of stopping the work.

Four times Joe nearly dropped a rock because his fingers were numb. The fifth time a guard cuffed him on the ear.

"Like to see you try this." he muttered.

"What was that?" the guard fingered his whip like it was an axe and Joe was a young tree he had a mind to cut down.

"It can't get much drier than this." Joe said. He kept walking. Let the guard whip him. He was almost ready to punch anyone who tried.

"Watch it, kid. You're not the only one who's cranky." Kirk said as he passed Joe with the wheelbarrow. He struggled to push it up the slight incline.

"You're shaking quite a bit there." Joe said.

"I'm fine. Better keep moving." Kirk glanced at the guards who were watching them.

"Right." Joe said. He kept his eye on Kirk that afternoon and noticed him growing paler and shakier. When the guards finally gave the order to board the boat, he went over to his fellow prisoner.

"Need a hand?"

"Just help me up the ramp." Kirk said as he leaned against Joe.

"Sure." Joe tried to sound nonchalant, but inwardly his stomach churned with worry. If Kirk was accepting an offer of help, it meant he must be feeling bad.

He maintained his watchfulness over Kirk the rest of the evening and the next day when it was still raining too hard to bother going to the quarry. The news was met with stifled cheers from the prisoners, but Kirk only closed his eyes. Joe narrowed his own in concern.

"A day of rest and little extra food will have him alright." Jimmy said when Joe mentioned his concern.

"Extra food from where?" Joe asked. There wasn't any extra anything.

Jimmy winked. "I'm not known as Nimble Jimmy for nothing." He cocked his head. I do believe that's the food cart coming now."

The door opened and two guards entered first, followed by the food cart and three more guards. As usual, Agnell leaned against the doorway and watched with menacing eyes. Usually Joe kept an eye on him, but this time he found himself glancing at Jimmy. And even though he didn't see him do anything out of the ordinary, after the food cart left, Jimmy passed Kirk and Joe saw him drop a couple of extra potatoes in his lap. He blinked and wondered if he'd imagined it.

"Piece of cake." Jimmy said when he caught Joe's bewildered look.

They only had about a half hour of lights left when the door swung open again. This time instead of nonchalantly sauntering in, Agnell stormed through the doorway.

"Line up." he snapped, cracking his whip for emphasis. The prisoners jumped to obey the order.

"So, you think this is a game? Think now that you're in jail, stealing isn't going to be punished?" he eyed each prisoner individually, and a shudder rippled around the room. The whip cracked again. "The man who stole the extra food will step forward."

No one stirred. Agnell crossed his arms. "So that's the way it is?"

He paced back and forth in front of the prisoners, flicking the end of a whip like a wildcat would flick its tail. No one dared to move, instead they stood ramrod straight and barely breathing. Then the guard stopped in front of Kirk.

"You'd be one that could benefit from a little extra food, wouldn't you, Kirk?" Agnell grabbed him by the collar and shoved him to the ground. A soft grunt was the only noise from Kirk. Joe clenched his fists. No one should have to take this lying down and without a protest. Especially not Kirk, who probably wouldn't even survive the beating Agnell would give him. As a cry burst through Kirk's lips from the first lash, Joe stepped forward out of line.

"It was me." His mouth felt like cotton. The other prisoners seemed to have shrunk back, as if the calculating look Agnell was giving him would slide over onto them. Agnell kicked Kirk away.

"You don't say."

"Yes, sir."

"Well then…" the fist came out of nowhere, and it sent Joe to his knees. "Shirt." Agnell snapped. Joe's fingers shook as he undid the buttons and let the dirty shirt slide to the straw covered floor. All the eyes of the other prisoners were on him, no doubt thinking he was crazy.

_'I probably am.'_ Joe decided. He clenched his teeth as the whip snapped against his back, leaving a trail of fire after it. He pressed his knuckles into the floor, as if the pain of that would take his mind off the whip. It only did for a few minutes, and then he nearly fell forward from the next lash. The booted feet of the prisoners in front of him blurred as his eyes watered. He closed them and focused on breathing. In, _snap_, out. The rhythm kept him going as his clenched muscles started to shake. In, _snap_, out. Then Joe fell forward and suddenly he couldn't breathe at all. Still the whip kept coming. It felt like the outer layer of skin on his back was being ripped off slowly with each strike. Joe clenched his fist, eyes squeezed shut. He wouldn't cry out. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

As the fire on his back grew, it seemed to swallow up all his other senses. The floor beneath him felt fuzzy, and the room began to go black. A hiss escaped Joe's lips as yet another lash hit his back. He couldn't make his muscles work to keep his jaw clenched. Another lash, and this time Joe gave a short scream. It sounded like it came from a million miles away. The floor wasn't under him anymore; he was falling into a deep pit, and in the pit was blissful nothingness, away from the whip and the pain. Joe let himself fall.

000000000000000

The first thing he was aware of was a crick in his neck from sleeping on his stomach with his head turned to the side. Why was he on his stomach? Joe tried to turn his head and gave a slight yelp when the motion sent rivets of pain up and down his back. Memory came flooding back with the pain. For some reason, Joe hadn't thought he would wake up alive. He'd been almost certain that Agnell would've just whipped him until there was nothing left but his spine.

"Awake now, are ya?" Someone said from above him. Joe couldn't place the voice.

"What was your first clue?" He mumbled. Even the motion from that seemed to use muscles in his back. If only he could go back to sleep, but he was too awake and in too much pain for that.

"Nice little yell you made gave me a hint. Want a drink?"

At the mention of water, Joe's throat suddenly transformed itself into a desert. "I doubt I can drink it." He said.

"I'll help ya. Careful now." Joe felt an arm slide under him and slowly help him roll up and over until he was sitting. He gritted his teeth and hissed as he straightened his back. It hurt to support himself, but he couldn't very well lean against the wall either. Instead he leaned forward and put his chin in his hands. His arms trembled under the weight of his head.

"Here." The prisoner, who turned out to be Sanders, handed him a tin dipper full of water. Joe carefully tipped his head back and downed it in one gulp.

"Thanks. How's Kirk?"

"A lot better than you, that's for sure."

"I believe it." Joe thought again about going back to sleep, but it seemed like too much effort to roll back over. He glanced around. "Where am I?"

"Lucky's cell. He told us to put you in here once Agnell got through with you."

"Why?" Joe couldn't remember anyone being allowed in Lucky's inner sanctum, let alone actually sleeping there.

"He didn't want anyone waking you up. You did a good thing, lad. Stupid, but good."

"I guess I shouldn't overstay my welcome. Think you can help me into the main block?"

"Sure thing. Lean on me now so I don't have to touch your back."

Joe gripped Sanders' shoulder and stood up. For a moment he almost went back down again as black spots fluttered before his eyes. He waited for them the clear and then nodded to Sanders.

"Let's go."

"One step at a time, lad." They carefully made their way across the room. One step at a time was put to the most literal sense, since Joe couldn't go more than one step without the black spots returning. Finally they made it to the door.

"Look who's up, gents." Sanders called to the couple dozen men scattered throughout the cell block. Instantly they were the focus of attention.

"Looking good, Cartwright. Have a seat here next to me." Jimmy pulled up one of the few stools. "Hey Rat! Get Cartwright a drink."

The young man jumped up and ran to the water bucket. Joe sank down onto the stool in relief.

"Quite a hike, all fifteen feet, hey?" Jimmy winked.

"Sure." Joe said, his face in his hands. His shut eyes welled up as he tried to breathe over the fire spreading in his back.

"Take it easy. Here's Rat."

Joe looked up and took the dipper. The water helped to calm his shaking muscles somehow.

"Thanks, Rat." He handed the dipper back.

"Sure." the young man's look took Joe in from head to toe and was laced with concern.

"How long was I out?" Joe asked. It had to have been at least a full day, since it was evening again.

"A good twenty hours." Jimmy answered.

Joe took a few deep breaths, trying not to use the muscles in his back. The prisoners in the cell had gone back as they were, and beside him Jimmy made a double jump against his opponent in checkers.

"Now how'd you manage to do that?" his opponent, a New Englander they called Friday, complained. "I had you trapped."

"It takes a lot more skill than you have to trap me, Friday." He turned to Joe. "You play checkers?"

"A little. I'm not that good." Joe reflected that he was very easily the worst checkers player on the Ponderosa.

"Give me three weeks and I'll have you wiping the faces of everyone in here with it. Not that that's much; no one on here's really a challenge."

"Jimmy, I guess there's only about a handful of people on this earth that could truly challenge you." Friday said as he studied the board. "There's no move I can do here."

"Start over then." Jimmy wiped the board clean and began to set it up again before Friday could protest. "That way I can work with my protégé." He continued to set up the pieces as he talked to Joe. "The key to checkers is knowing what kind of opponent you're facing. Is he cautious not wanting to lose pieces? Or would he sacrifice one piece to get another? Know your opponent, and you'll be able to think three or four steps ahead of him. Then you've got the game."

"But wouldn't the game be half over by the time you know the way he plays?" Joe asked.

"Not necessarily. Any checker player worth his salt can tell in the first three moves what  
kind of opponent he's facing." He moved a piece forward. "Friday's gonna go for the subtle approach from the side." He said. "He took the straightforward way in the last game and it didn't work, so now he'll try something new."

"Would you stop telling him what I'm going to do before I do it?" Friday snapped. Jimmy raised his hands.

"I'm just trying to teach here. It's not my fault you're an unoriginal checker player."

Friday snorted, and Joe stifled a chuckle. If Jimmy was trying to get his mind off his flaming back, it was working. They spent the next few hours at the checkerboard with Jimmy tearing Friday's every move to bits. The more he talked, the more irrigated Friday got, but Jimmy never quit. He even made a few bad moves to show Joe how to recover from errors. But he still always won.

The next morning as they lined up to go to the quarry. Joe thought about his back and wondered just how he was supposed to swing a pickaxe without tearing his back open and bleeding to death. Lucky seemed to read his thoughts.

"Just sit back down in your corner." he said. "They won't bother you for another few days."

Joe blinked incredulously at the old prisoner.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"Yes, I just thought I must have heard you wrong."

"You heard me right. Sit back down. You've earned at least three days rest."

Three days. Joe sat down feeling as if the world had suddenly started to spin the other way. He turned to thank Lucky, but the prisoner had already disappeared back into his 'cell'. Joe settled back down onto his blanket. He was getting tired of sleeping on his stomach, but after couple of minutes, his exhausted body managed to fall asleep anyway.

He slept for half the day and woke up ravenous. Since there was no food, he lay in a half doze, dreaming about steaks. Large, juicy, Ponderosa steaks, with juice dribbling out when you cut them and so tender they melted in your mouth. He could actually smell them in his half asleep state, actually see them in front of him. Joe felt his mouth watering as he cut a piece off and lifted his dream fork, ready to take the first bite.

A foot nudged his side. Instantly the steak vanished, replaced by a burst of pain through his side. Joe jerked up and instantly regretted it. He hissed and leaned against the wall for support.

"What?" he asked Lucky.

"Don't snap at me, young pup. There's work to do." Lucky coughed and then limped back to his cell. Joe rolled his eyes and followed, inwardly seething. He'd been so close...

"What work?" he asked, hesitating before going behind the blanket.

"Get in here and I'll tell you." Lucky growled. Joe entered and sat next to the old prisoner.

"I've got a plan, kid. One you're gonna like. You've proved yourself, so I'm letting you in on it."

"What?" Joe leaned forward, forgetting about he pain in his back.

"And escape." Lucky's voice lowered to less than a whisper.

"Escape?"

"That's right. Not for me though. No, I've spent my time. It'll be enough for me to get my head above ground and smell the ocean. After spending life as a sailor, you don't want to die any other way than with salt spray in your nose."

Joe stared at Lucky like he had never seen him before. "Then who's escaping?"

"You and anyone else who can make it. We're gonna burn that boat that carries you lads to the island."

"But... people could drown."

"They could. Or they could burn alive. Or they could escape." Lucky shot Joe a bristling look from under his eyebrows. "Don't you tell me you wouldn't rather die trying to escape than sit here an rot. And this is the best chance, for all you lads."

"Alright." Joe conceded. "What do you need me for?"

"I need a few reliable men to soak the ship in oil from the lights. I'll go up the day of the escape, and all the guards' eyes will be on me. You boys will light the fire. I'll take care of the guards while the rest of you swim for it."

"I can do that." Joe said. He hesitated and then stated the obvious. "They'll kill you."

Lucky grunted dismissively. "I'm going to die anyway. Been in prison for seven years now, but it's starting to catch up to me." he coughed again. "You boys deserve a second chance, and I'm gonna see that you get it. Now look, don't tell anyone, you hear me? There are some sneaks in here that'll do anything for a little extra food or a day off."

"Yes, sir." Joe said. His mind raced with what he'd just heard. It was crazy, chances were they would all be shot. But escape fever had caught up with him, and he felt unfamiliar excitement trickling through him.

"Once the days start to get shorter the guards don't like to quit early just because the sunset time changed." Lucky said. "They stay out til it starts to get dark. We'll have to wait until then. You be my time man, hey? Let me know where the sun is each time you come back. We want it as dark as it can be."

"Alright. Hey, who else knows?"

"A handful. Your poker friends, and Jimmy's the one getting me the matches. A few more."

For some reason Joe thought of Rat. He knew what the answer was, but he had to ask.

"What about Rat?"

"What about him?" Lucky demanded. "He hasn't been tried, barely been in here a month. That's the time when you're smart enough to know how to get favors from the guards and desperate enough to try."

"He's a kid."

"So are you. Listen to me, Cartwright, I'm the one calling the shots. You hear? Cross me and I'll make sure yours is the next body the guards have to burn."

"I wouldn't cross you." Joe snapped. "You said not to tell anyone, and I won't. But the day of the escape, I'm not leaving him behind."

"That's your affair. I'm providing the opportunity; it's yours to waste if you want. Now get out of my cell."

Joe carefully stood. While part of him wished the escape were happening now, the logical side of his brain was glad it wouldn't be for another several weeks. He couldn't imagine plunging into salt water with his back torn open. And that would give Rat a little more time to prove himself.  
_'Don't know why I care so much about just one kid.'_ Joe thought, then he laughed bitterly at himself. He'd been in here way too long if he was questioning having compassion on someone.

**OyNebach42 - Thank you! I'll try! **

**megfurtado - Updating as requested. Thank you for reviewing!**

**LittleJoe - Um, yeah. Well, I guess you can be glad you're not really Little Joe now, huh? **

**BonanzaFan - I shall try to keep it coming as steadily as possible, however, classes have started, so I don't have quite as much free time to write. **

**Tauna Petit-Strawn - Just long enough for me to squeeze a little more angst out :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The first day Joe went back to the quarry, the other prisoners did their best to shield him from the guards since he still couldn't work as hard. And for the first time, Kirk let him have his wheelbarrow back.

"You don't want to keep it? You two seemed pretty attached." Joe asked him.

"It's a loan, not a gift." Kirk snapped, but he still helped Joe load the rocks in it when the guards weren't looking.

"You're a celebrity." Jimmy said to him at lunch.

"Because I took a beating for someone else?"

"Because you survived. None of us thought you would the way Agnell laid into you." he shook his head. "You're made of tougher stuff than you look, chico."

And apparently Rat was too. He still maintained the clueless expression on his face that made Little Joe think of a lost puppy, but he kept at the quarry work without complaint.

"I'm used to hard work on an empty stomach." he said when Joe remarked upon it. "Lived on a farm with my Ma and five brothers and sisters. Seven people in one house means there's never enough to go around."

"I always took you for a city boy." Joe said.

"Oh, I am. Left the farm when I was thirteen. Looking for adventure." he snorted. "I guess I found it."

"Yeah, you hit a bonanza alright." Joe muttered. He wondered if he hadn't turned around that night in Placerville if he would have turned in to someone like Rat, continually carrying a defensive wall around and automatically assuming the worst in people. One thing was for sure: if he hadn't turned around, he wouldn't be here. But he still couldn't bring himself to regret it. After all, if he hadn't turned around, he wouldn't be home either, and even though he was stuck, Joe still considered himself on the way home.

Thoughts of the Ponderosa filled his head every night now that Lucky had told him about the escape plan, and he didn't try to stop them. An ache filled every fiber of his being for the tall trees and green grass of the ranch that he knew every stick and stone of. Little things that the prisoners did would remind him of his family; the way Blackie licked his lips as he stared at his cards, determined not to lose but unable to win, made him think of Hoss, and playing checkers with Jimmy – who said Joe would be able to beat him someday – reminded him of getting soundly beaten time and time again by Adam. As Joe lay awake, he squeezed his eyes shut against tears of homesickness. A restless shifting nearby let him know he wasn't the only one awake.

"Whatcha thinking about, Rat?" he said softly.

"Thinkin' about my Ma's blueberry pie." Rat murmured dreamily. "She had this way of making the crust all crispy and golden. It just sang. I'd kill someone for a piece of that pie right now. Heck, I'd kill for just a taste of it."

Joe smiled slightly in the dark. "Hop Sing, our cook, used to make these strawberry tarts from wild strawberries that grew near the lake. They were heaven on earth."

Joe heard Rat turn to face him, but he kept lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling through the dark.

"You had servants?"

"He was just a cook." Joe realized that to someone who had nothing, having a man hired just to do the cooking must have made him seem richer than Andrew Carnegie. "If you ever tasted my Pa's cooking, you'd know why."

From the darkness, Joe heard a soft chuckle then there was silence. "I never knew my Pa. My Ma said it was better that way, but once I got older, she told me there was too much of him in me. That's why I left home – too restless. She knew I was going to, and she didn't even try to stop me. She knew…" Rat fell into silence. "I ain't mad I left; I ain't no famer. Just mad that I ended up here."

"Yeah." Joe listened to the gentle snoring and deep breathing of the men around him in the silence that followed. It reminded him of listening to Hoss snore in the room beside him, and he searched in his mind for something to say to start the conversation up again.

"Where is she?" he finally asked.

"My guess is still on that farm. She'd die before she'd let anyone take it from her."

"Sounds like my Pa. The Ponderosa is his life."

"Why'd you leave home, Cartwright? Sounds like you had everything going for you."

"I did." Joe took a deep breath. "I let things get to me. Schoolmates always know how to stick you right where it hurts, you know? Anyway, there was this one kid, Jake Larson, not that bad of a kid; he just couldn't shut up; thought he knew everything. He always gave me trouble about not having a mother and that I'd never get the chance to go anywhere because my Pa would have me tied up at the ranch the rest of my life. He'd traveled quite a bit, and he would go on about where he'd been with his Pa. I think he was actually jealous of me though, having that solid piece of earth beneath my feet. Anyway, we were both itching to fight each other, so we finally did." Joe stopped and chuckled. "Best fight you've ever seen too. Only my Pa was gone, and it was my older brother Adam home and in charge. He takes being in charge a little too seriously. I was supposed to chop wood that afternoon, but I'd hurt my wrist in the fight, so I couldn't. He let me have it, first about my lack of responsibility then about fighting." Joe paused and thought about the sharp words that had been flung back and forth. Maybe if he'd been a little more responsible earlier in the week while their Pa was gone and had not purposefully tried to get on Adam's nerves, his older brother would have been a little more understanding. Instead they'd ended up shouting at each other until Joe had enough and flung himself at his brother. Of course he didn't have a chance of beating Adam in a fight, but that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was that for every time Adam hit him, he got to hit back. Until Hoss pulled them off of each other, that is.

"Joe?" Rat whispered carefully as if he was afraid to startle Joe out of his memories.

"Oh. Yeah. Long story short, we fought, and I took off. Got on a stage for San Francisco and then backtracked into Placerville. It only took about a day for me to cool off enough to realize I was being an idiot, and then it took an old man in Placerville to convince me to turn around. That's when I got framed for robbery."

"Tough luck."

"Pretty much." Joe hesitated to voice his thoughts but then decided there wasn't any reason not to. "You know, when I get out of here, I'm going back to Placerville. And I'm gonna find whoever did rob that store. And I'm beat him up so badly that no doctor will be able to put him back together."

"You're in here for ten years, Joe."

"Doesn't matter. Ten, twenty, a hundred. I'll find him." The words came out as a vow, and Joe felt anger bubbling up in his chest. He would find him.

"Guess I'd be feeling the same way." Rat said. Joe barely heard him. His mind was back in Placerville, going over everything that had happened for the hundredth time. The arrest, the trial, the sentencing. It was all as clear as if it had happened the day before. He was pretty sure it would stay that clear in his mind until the day he died.

000000000000000

As the days continued to grow colder, Joe kept his eye on the sun. Every night when the boat returned to San Quentin, it got a little closer to the horizon, and the air was a little bit darker. Every night Lucky asked him how the quarry was, and every night Joe would shrug.

"Getting there." he would say. And Lucky would nod and shuffle away.

Then one day the sun was touching the horizon when they boarded the boat to go back, staining the water gold.

"Red in the morning..." Joe murmured. There would be a storm tomorrow. When they got off the boat, the sun had almost disappeared.

"How's the quarry?" Lucky asked.

"At it's prime." Joe said. His heart jumped as he said the words. Once again, Lucky nodded, but this time there was an added connotation. Joe took a deep breath as images of the Ponderosa ran through his head. He forced them out. There would be time to daydream about being at home later; right now he was still in prison.

Jimmy tossed him a rag that morning in line. The scent of oil rose from it, and Joe stuffed it down his shirt.

"Wipe down the wall and floor with it and then light it." Jimmy stuck a match in Joe's pocket. Joe nodded. His mouth had suddenly gone dry, and he didn't think he'd be able to talk if he tried.

When they lined up, Lucky was at the head of the line. The guards froze, but Lucky didn't seem to notice. He just marched past them like they were statues and climbed up into the boat. The other prisoners followed him like he was their general. The wind whipped their clothes against them, and the sky was clouded over. Joe tipped his head back, already catching the scent of freedom in the salty air. A they worked though, the air became as taut as a bowstring as they worked. Each chip he made with his pickaxe sounded like victory to Joe.

_'This is the last time.'_ He thought. Everyone seemed to be of the same idea: they would escape or die trying. There was no returning to this life. They ate lunch in silence. If the prisoners were tense, the guards were even more so. They knew something was up, but they didn't know what. They watched Lucky, who didn't bother even trying to look like he was working. Instead he stood and watched his men haul rocks. Even at lunch he didn't move from the rock he'd posted himself at.

"Hey, Jimmy." Joe broke the silence.

"Don't say it, chico." Jimmy waved him off. "Just keep playing checkers. Someday I'll come find your Ponderosa and see if you can beat me."

Joe forced a smile. "Ok."

When they boarded the boat, Lucky didn't lead. Instead he waited at the back of the line. Joe, Jimmy, Sanders, and Friday went down first.

"Well, this is it." Jimmy pulled out a set of makeshift lock picks and in an instant the chains on his ankles were gone. He lit a match. "Vaya con Dios, amigos." he dropped the match on the rag, and the others did the same. Instantly the cloth flamed to life.

"Fire!" Joe yelled. They ran up. Lucky had already taken down three guards and prisoners were jumping into the water. Gunshots only added to the confusion rather than resolve it. Joe grabbed Rat by the arm and jumped overboard. He glanced back for a split second and saw Lucky tackling his fifth guard.  
_'He's having the time of his life.'_ Joe realized right before they hit the water. Rat came spluttering up beside him.

"Come on." Joe started swimming. The guards would be busy putting out the fire and rounding up the prisoners who hadn't been quick enough to seize the chance. Already it was dark thanks to the cloud cover.

"Joe!"

"Come on!" Joe repeated. He choked on a mouthful of seawater. The waves slapped them back and forth, and Joe wondered how many of the prisoners would drown in this insanity. Then he began to wonder if he would drown. It seemed like no matter how hard he stroked, he got no where. Eventually his arms began to give out.

"Come on, Joe!" Now it was Rat who was swimming beside him, urging him onward. Joe gritted his teeth and forced his arms to keep moving.

"I see the beach!" Rat yelled.

Joe didn't know how he could see anything above the waves and through the dark, but he took Rat's word for it. His arms dragged the water back and his legs kicked him forward until suddenly he felt sand beneath his feet.

_'Thank God.'_ A second later he was almost pulled back out by the tide. Joe pushed himself forward off the bottom. Once he was able to stand up and get his waist above the water, he nearly fell; his body felt so heavy. Rat seemed to feel the same, and they both half walked half crawled up onto the beach. Rat collapsed in the wet sand.

"Not yet." Joe wanted nothing more than to join him, but he knew better. "Gotta keep moving." He glanced at the sand beneath his feet and realized that a child could track them in this footing. "Let's walk along the beach; we'll keep our feet in the water to wash away tracks."

"And be easily spotted."

"I can barely see you right next to me; no one will see us. Come on." he reached out a hand and helped Rat up.

"What's the plan?" Rat asked as they walked.

"Sacramento."

"San Francisco is closer."

"Everyone will be headed there; it's the first place they'll look."

"That's because to go to Sacramento we'll have to pass right by the prison."

"Exactly. It's the last thing they'll expect." Or so Joe hoped. He knew they'd be looking all up an down the coast for the escaped prisoners, and he was counting on the fact that no one in their right mind would walk back in the direction of the prison they'd just escaped from.

Beside him, he could tell Rat was still uneasy. "Look, you don't have to come with me." Joe said.

"You dragged me out of there, Cartwright. If it hadn't been for you I would've been standing there stupidly until some guard locked me back up. I'll follow you wherever you lead, Captain."

Joe managed a small smile. "We're not out of this yet." A thousand things raced through his mind. They needed new clothes first, then they would need food. Sacramento was quite the hike; no way could they do it on an empty stomach.

They followed the coast northwest and then followed a river off of the bay upstream so they could skirt around San Quentin. As the sky began to lighten, Joe nudged Rat.

"We'd better start looking for a place to hide."

"Where are we?"

"Probably three to five miles West of San Quentin."

"So we must be near San Rafael."

Joe gave an exaggerated shrug. "You're guess is as good as mine." He looked ahead. "What's that?"

Rat nodded. "That's what I thought. The San Rafael mission." He picked up his pace and Joe followed. In the slowly increasing light he saw a one story building with a cross on top of it. In front there was a large bell that didn't look like it had been used in years.

"It's abandoned." Rat opened the door, which gave a dramatic creak, as if annoyed by being disturbed after years of slumber.

Joe squinted as he tried to see around inside the dusty room. "Not much."

"But it'll hide us for the day."

"Unless someone comes looking here." Joe pointed out.

"Then we'll have to rely on your guess that no one would think we would come this way."

Joe nodded in concession. It was like there was any place better anyway.

"We should take turns watching. You want to sleep first?" he asked.

"I can take first watch." Rat said.

"You sure?"

"Go to sleep, Cartwright. You've been worrying a lot more than I have, so naturally you're gonna be more tired."

Joe gave him a week grin and settled himself in a corner. "Wake me in a few hours." he said. The next thing he knew, he was being shaken.

"I said a few hours, not two seconds." Joe growled.

"It's been four hours, idiot."

"I think your watch is fast." Joe stood up and groaned as he stretched his sore muscles.

"You might want to be nice to me, or I won't give you any breakfast." Rat threatened.

"Breakfast?" Instantly he had Joe's attention.

"Apparently there used to be a garden out back. It's all overgrown now, but there's some stuff growing."

"Where?"

Rat pointed to the back door, and Joe was immediately through it.

"So am I gonna wake up to a gun being pointed at my head because you were too busy stuffing yourself to keep watch?" Rat called after him.

Joe didn't answer. He stepped outside, blinking in the bright light. '_Has the sun always been this blinding?'_ He wondered. Instantly he found the garden and pushed through the waist high weeds. Beneath them, some squash had managed to survive hears of neglect. He picked four, gathered up his booty, and went back inside. He noticed that Rat was already fast asleep before going outside where he could keep an eye out.

He cracked open on of the vegetables on the wall and dug in. Normally Joe hated squash, but no other food had tasted so heavenly. Joe wolfed down all four and then leaned back against the wall. A bird flew overhead, and Joe watched it, knowing just how it felt to soar freely with no one to pull it down. The air was still chilly, but the sun was warm on his face and made him feel like dozing. He let Rat sleep until he could barely keep his eyes open, then he went back inside and shook his friend awake.

"I'll catch another couple of hours then you can have another rest before we head out again." he said.

"Sure thing." Rat yawned as he stood up.

When they switched watched again, Joe decided to have a look around the building. You never knew, there might be clothes or something lying around that they could use. He found what looked like an old office and searched the desk, but all that there was was a map. Joe started to put it back and then stopped. Something had caught his eye.

From where they were, it was a straight shot to Sacramento, except that San Pablo bay stood between them. Joe studied it for a minute and then went back to the main room. When it was time, he woke Rat up.

"How far do you think you can swim?" he asked.

"Why?"

"I think I found a shortcut, but it'd mean about a five mile swim."

"What?"

Joe produced the map and Rat studied it.

"After all, no one would be looking for us on the water." he said.

Rat shook his head. "You're crazy."

"Can you do it?"

"How should I know? I've never swam five miles at a time just to see if I could."

"Do you think you could?" Joe persisted. "It's a bit of a hike around otherwise, and they may be looking for us."

Rat sighed. "I said I'd follow you, Captain. Just don't get me drowned."

Joe clapped him on the back. "I won't."

000000000000000

They headed across country until the waters of the bay loomed before them. Joe's stomach fluttered slightly as he realized he couldn't see the other side in the darkness.

"Ready, Captain?" Rat didn't seem to feel any better about this idea. For a second Joe thought about calling it off, but then he waded into the water. It was cool, but not cold, and after a few minutes of swimming he didn't even notice the temperature anymore.

"This is crazy." Rat muttered from beside him.

"Just keep swimming." Joe told him. Twenty minutes later he was telling himself that. One long cramp ran up and down his whole side.

"Hang on." he flipped over on his back and let himself rest while he gently kicked himself forward. Rat followed suit.

"We could just swim like this the rest of the way."

"Just give me a minute." Breathing hurt, but slowly he felt his side start to relax again. "Ready?"

"No, but why not?" Rat flipped over.

They alternated swimming and floating as they made their way across. Finally Joe caught sight of the shore.

"Thank the Lord." Rat said as they scrambled into land. "I'm never swimming again as long as I live."

"It's sixty miles to Sacramento." Joe remembered from the map. He untied his soaked shoes from around his waist and put them on.

"We can't walk all the tonight."

"No. And we need clothes."

"Well there's a town over there." Rat nodded. "Vallejo, if I remember right from your map. Find a clothesline."

"We can't just..."

"Unless you want to be caught in prison clothes." he added.

Joe frowned. He didn't really like stealing when he was headed out to prove that he wasn't a thief, but there didn't seem to be much of a choice. He followed Rat into Vallejo. They found clothes and headed out again.

"I'm so hungry I could eat a rattlesnake." Rat moaned. They had found a small grove to rest in for a little while.

"Once we get to Sacramento we should be able to get food." Joe said.

Rat leaned his head back and groaned. "Did you bring me out here to die in the desert like God did the Hebrews?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "Stop being dramatic. We'll..." he stopped. A slight sound had caught his attention. He pressed himself against a tree and peered out.

"What?" Rat whispered.

"I don't know." Joe felt his heart beating in his throat. He scanned the field, but all that met his eye was grass. "Nothing, I guess. We'd better get going though."

"I'd say you should." a male voice said from behind them.

Joe and Rat jumped and spun around, coming face to face with a rifle.

"And who might you be?" the man holding the gun demanded.

"Travelers." Joe said.

"Travelers? Why ain't you traveling on the road then?"

"We're lost?" Rat tried.

"We didn't realize this was your land, sir. Just point us in the direction of the road..." Joe began.

"Nope." the man cut him off. "Not with guilty faces like yours."

"We can't help it if we were born looking guilty." Rat protested.

"I don't trust fellas on my land, especially ones as jumpy as you two. Clearly you didn't want to be found. Now, I want to know who you are." When neither of them said anything, he cocked the rifle. "Now."

Rat opened up his mouth, probably to lie, but Joe cut him off.

"We're escaped prisoners from San Quentin." he said, deciding to go for broke. It was a risk, but Joe remembered his checkers lessons. Any player worth his salt would know his opponent within the first few moves. And he remembered a voice from what seemed like a long time ago telling him to know people, who to avoid, who was an enemy, and who could be used. If this man only cared about his land, he would have either shot or run them off, so Joe figured he had already heard about the escape and jumped to the right conclusion anyway. But something in his stance made Joe think that he could talk his way out of this.

"Rat here was in for joining the wrong crowd, and I was in because I was framed for robbery. I know you feel like you should turn us in, but I'm asking you not to. Yes, law abiding citizens are supposed to obey the laws of society and justice, even if they get dealt a bad hand, but we just decided not to take it anymore. I'm on my way to prove that I'm innocent, and Rat's going home to his Ma. You can try to stop us, but neither of us are going back." Joe unbuttoned his shirt and turned around, showing the man the scars that crisscrossed on his back. "Even if I had done what I was sent to jail for, I think I've paid my debt to society, don't you?"

He turned back around. The man lowered the gun slowly. "How old are you boys?"

"Sixteen."

"Seventeen."

"Just a couple of kids." The man shook his head. "Need something to eat?"

Joe blinked. "What?"

"You do eat, don't you?"

"Yes, sir!" Rat said.

"Come on. My farm's just over the hill. My wife'll give you something to eat."

"You're quite the gambler, Cartwright." Rat gave him a friendly nudge.

"Yeah. Wonder why I'm so bad at poker."

They followed the man up the hill until a small farmhouse came into view.

"You two got names?" the man asked.

"Joe Cartwright."

"Patrick Miller."

Joe gave Rat a quizzical look. He shrugged.

"Sam Bates." the man opened the door of the house. "Nellie!"

A woman with streaks of grey in her chestnut collored hair entered, wiping her hands on her apron. "Sam, I didn't expect you until noon." she glanced at Joe and Rat.

"Got some visitors. This here's Joe Cartwright and Pattrick Miller. They're on their way to Sacramento and got a little lost, so I told 'em you'd give 'em a meal before I set 'em straight."

"Oh, of course." she smiled at them. "Make yourselves at home while I throw something together." she disappeared back into the kitchen.

"So where are you headed?" Sam asked.

"Sacramento, actually." Joe said.

Sam laughed. "There's a coincidence. You planning on walking?"

"That's why God gave man legs." Rat said.

"Yeah, and he also gave us horses, wagons, and a rear end to sit in."

Joe perked up. "I wouldn't want to take you out of your way..." he said hesitantly.

"I'd been planning on going out there sometime this week anyway. Might as well go today. I'll give you a ride."

"Really?" Joe could scarcely believe it.

"You two boys eat while I hitch up the team." Sam left.

"You know, I never realized people were capable of being nice." Rat said. "Seems I always run into the ones with a mean streak."

"Yeah." Joe knew what he meant. He'd lost a little bit of faith in human nature while in prison. It was nice to see it starting to be restored.

**MJ2901 - Sorry I haven't included much Ponderosa stuff; I didn't want to detract from the story. But we'll see the rest of the family coming along sooner or later. Thanks for reviewing!**

**LittleJoe - I like to read it too, but sometimes it's between reading and writing. I'm gld you're enjoying the story!**

**BonanzaFan - Thank you! **

**o2bafirefighter - They'll feature back into the story eventually. In the meantime I'm glad you like the story!**

**kyolover16 - Eventually! Thanks for the review!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sam dropped them off on main street just outside the post office.

"Now you to keep out of trouble, you hear?" he said.

"Thanks, Mr. Bates." Joe jumped down from the wagon and he and Rat walked down the street.

"Well, I guess this is where we part, Cartwright." Rat said. "I'm up north, and you're out east."

"You're not sticking around?"

"There's still a few hours of daylight left for me to travel by." He held out his hand. "Thanks, Joe."

"Sure. Patrick." Joe grinned and shook his head.

"Like I was gonna tell him my name's rat."

"Who gave you the nickname?"

"My little brother." he shook his head. "When I left, he wasn't up to my waist. Can't believe I'm gonna see him again."

Joe nodded. "Take care. Stop in sometime if you're in the neighborhood."

"Sure thing." Rat waved and was gone. Joe slowly looked around. It was like a dream that had slowly faded. San Quentin seemed a thousand miles away, and the Ponderosa seemed so close. But there was something he had to do first, and that was in Placerville. There was no way he could walk out there in what day was left though. He might as well find a place to spend the night. Joe glanced around as if a solution would present itself and caught sight of an elderly woman carrying a sack of groceries. He sprang forward.

"Let me get those for you, ma'am." he said.

"Why thank you, young man. I usually have Carl do it for me, but he'd busy today and his boy's out sick."

"Carl?"

"Carl Robbins, the store owner. He knows I don't like walking alone. But I suppose I can give him up for a fine young man like yourself."

Joe smiled. "Just where is this store?"

"Right down the street. It's got the red sign hanging from it." she eyed him. "Are you new in town?"

"Passing through, ma'am."

"It's too bad. It's always nice seeing handsome young men around."

"Thank you, ma'am." Joe said through his grin. He held open her door for her and she took the sack from him.

"Now you consider sticking around and I'll consider having you be my permanent grocery carrier." she said.

"I think I'll be moving on. Thank you though." Joe turned and walked away, shaking his head.

"The store with the red sign." he murmured to himself. It was easy enough to find, and the lady hadn't been lying; the store was full of people. He squeezed his way to the front counter.

"Carl Robbins?" he asked the large, sweating man behind the counter. "Joe Cartwright."

"So?"

"I heard you were a little shorthanded today. Thought you could use a hand for the rest of the afternoon."

"What do you want?" he asked suspiciously.

"Dinner and enough food to get to Placerville."

Robbins eyed Joe. "Who did you say you were?"

"Joe Cartwright."

He snorted. "That's not what I meant, but I don't have time to argue. Get in back, put an apron on, and then come back out here."

"Yes, sir."

Joe didn't think he stood still once that entire afternoon or evening. Finally the last customer left, and Robbins locked the door.

"Well lad, I don't know where you came from, but you came in the nick of time." he said. "Fill yourself a sack of supplies."

"Thanks." Joe started getting some food together.

"I'll bet it's an interesting story." Robbins went on as he began to wipe down the counter.

"What's that?" Joe asked.

"Where you're going, where you came from. But you don't seem too inclined to tell it, so I won't pester you."

"Oh, it is." Joe twisted the sack once and then tied it. He grabbed and apple and closed hie eyes when he bit down on it. Clearly he had forgotten what apples taste like. "It's just a little complicated." he concluded.

"Fair enough. You're just a little young to be on your own is all."

"So I've been told."

"Heading out tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Need a place to spend the night?"

"Actually, yes."

"Come here." he led Joe out back and unlocked another door from the ally. "It's a supply room, but not much in there now except burlap sacks and boxes. Make yourself at home."

"Thank you, sir." Joe eyed the bare room, but it was worse than a lot of places he'd been.

"Don't mention it. Good luck, son." Robbins shut and locked the door to the store and then left. Joe went into the tiny room, shutting the door behind him. He made himself comfortable on a pike of sacks and ate half of his food. The rest he tucked away back in the sack.

He left town before anyone was stirring the next morning. As he walked, he tried to form a strategy for how exactly he was going to clear his name. There was one man who could help him, he decided, and that was Mr. Morgan. If anyone was going to know anything, it would be him. The question was how to talk to him without getting arrested again.

He still hadn't come up with a plan by the time he reached Placerville late that afternoon. Joe hesitated outside of town, and then decided to throw caution to the wind. He stepped forward right into the saloon.

A few people looked up and then went back to their drinks. When no one pulled out a gun or ran for the sheriff, Joe, figured he was safe for the moment. He sat down at a corner table next to a familiar figure.

"Mr. Morgan."

The old man studied Joe for a few moments in silence. "You must've grown five years since I last saw ya." he finally said. "How was prison?"

"Delightful. Didn't see you at my trial."

He waved a hand. "I don't attend those monkey-fests. People yammering for justice and the greater good of society. Pah." he spit. "So what'd you come back for?"

"Someone else robbed that store, and I have to find out who it was."

"And you think I did it?"

"No. But you have to know who did."

"What makes you say that?"

"You sit in this saloon all day just watching people; you have to know everything in this town."

"That's true." His eyes gave a little twinkle. "But nobody listens to an old coot in a saloon."

"So you know who did it?"

"Sure."

"Really?" Joe could hardly believe it. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Didn't you hear me? Because nobody listens to an old coot in a saloon."

"So who did it? Was it the sheriff?"

"What makes you say that?"

"He didn't send my telegram to my Pa. The operator told me."

Morgan shook his head as he chewed on his mustache. "That sheriff is just too lazy to be out hunting crooks if he's got one in his jail. The man you want is Michael Crane."

"Michael Crane?"

"That's what I said, ain't it? You deaf or something?"

"No." Joe ran a hand through his hair. "Who's Michael Crane?"

"Guy that works around town. Takes care of the church and graveyard and a couple of other places."

"And you think it's him."

Morgan sat up and glared at Joe, his dark eyes gleaming dangerously. "No. I know it's him."

"How?"

"As you said once, I spend too much time studying people. Now that Crane, he acts like he's thicker and a fencepost, but he's got a brain in there alright. He takes what people leave on the graves and sells what he can. Finds things left on the floor, same thing. He's always watching people too. You can always tell a man's up to no good by the way he watches people. The whole week before your trial, he made himself pretty scarce, but the couple times he came into the saloon, he was jumpier than a hen in a foxhouse. The second you left town? Biggest grin in town. Came in here and bought Manning a drink, but he was celebrating just as much as Manning."

"But there's no evidence." Joe's heart, which had jumped when Morgan had first started talking, settled back down to his toes. Without evidence there was no way of clearing his name.

"Maybe. Like I said, Crane is smart. He'd wait a while to start spending the money, even after sending you to jail. Probably still has it hidden away somewhere now."

"So all we have to do is find it." Joe's spirits instantly rose again, but Morgan snorted.

"All? The man knows this area like the back of his hand. If he hid the money, you ain't gonna just find it. But..." he leaned back and started to chew his mustache again. "we might be able to convince him to confess. After all, I'm a pretty imposing figure, and a few months in prison might have sharpened your fighting skills a little."

Joe ignored the insult. "Where is he?"

"He's got a little house about half a mile from town. Too early to head out there now."

"Too early?"

"Have you ever heard of doing dark deeds in the middle of the day?" Morgan snapped. Joe raised his hands in defeat.

"I can't sit around town though; I might be seen."

"Hmph. I forgot, you're a wanted man." Morgan eyed him for a couple of minutes. "Alright, I'll meet you on the outskirts by the road. We'll head up there and sit tight 'til it gets dark. He's like as not to be away from home at this time of day anyway, but we'll wait for him."

"Great." Joe started to stand up and then sat back down. He grabbed Morgan's hat off his head and pulled it down low over his brow as the sheriff entered and sat down.

"Lucky for you, our sheriff isn't all that observant." Morgan said.

"If he'd been better at his job, I wouldn't be in this position in the first place." Joe hissed. How was he supposed to get our of here now?

"Can I have my hat back?"

"No!"

"Just thought I'd ask." Morgan stood.

"Where are you going?" Joe whispered.

"I told you I'd meet you on the outskirts, didn't I? I've got some things to do before that."

"But..." Joe groaned as Morgan walked away. Now what? He cast about the saloon helplessly, and his eyes fell on the dark-haired beauty he'd met the first time he'd been in town. She was leaning against the bar with the man who Joe instantly recognized, the overly-jealous one. He stared at the girl, willing her to look at him. Eventually she did, and he gestured for her to join him.

"Don't I know you?" she asked.

"Nope, first time in town." he said, banking on the fact that she hadn't been at his trial either. She wouldn't recognize him from being a customer, a girl who saw dozens of people in one day. "But I need your help."

"That'll cost you."

"I'll pay you back. Someday. Just get a couple of guys to start a fight. Please?"

"Why?"

"I'm a writer for the newspaper and I need an action piece."

"I don't believe you."

"Look, this other guy has been outwriting me for months, and I really just need a story."

"Bar fights happen all the time."

"But not over you the most beautiful woman this side of the Mississippi." Joe said temptingly. She hesitated, and Joe went on, "I can see the headlines right now: the Jewel of the west sought by men everywhere. It be such a thriller."

She stood. "Just make sure you spell my name right." she said. Then she moseyed back to the bar, stopping on her way to wink at a young man at a table.

He followed her like a fish to bait. The other man stepped between the two, and when the young man tried to hit him, he was thrown across a table to his efforts. In less and a minute the bar was in an uproar. Joe edged his way along the wall and slipped outside while the sheriff was busy trying to stop the fight. As soon as he was out of the bar, Joe broke into a run. His footsteps felt as light as a galloping horse as exuberance welled inside him. They'd get Crane to confess and then he'd be on his way home. Joe took a deep breath. He still hadn't lost the appreciation for the free open air of the outdoors, and it was even sweeter now that it looked like he might be able to keep enjoying it instead of being sent back to prison.

Joe hid himself among the trees on the side of the road and waited. Morgan seemed to be taking his time. Sure he was an old man, but he was quick, and, Joe assumed, stronger than he looked. He wondered how the people of this town could so easily overlook and underestimate him.

From his hiding place, Joe could see parts of the road, but not all. He kept his eyes on it as the minutes ticked by, and then nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a whistle close behind him.

"What are you doing, hiding like a rabbit back here? Come on then; we've got a way to go."

"What took you so long?" Joe asked, annoyed at being so easily caught off guard.

Morgan rattled a pack on his back. "Had to get something to drink while waiting. You can make coffee, can't you?"

000000000000000

They camped on the other side of a knoll, not far from Crane's house, but far enough away that their small fire wouldn't be noticed. Joe leaned against a fallen tree and watched the sun slowly merge with the horizon, sending streaks of pink and gold up into the sky. He took a sip of coffee and kept his eyes on the colors, watching them shift and sway as the sun slowly slid out of view. It was almost like watching water rippling, only this was a more subtle change. A couple of clouds slipped into the scene and were instantly stained a light shade of pink.

"So once we get the money back, where are you headed?" Morgan broke the spell of the moment.

"Home." Joe closed his eyes briefly as the word brought back images of the Ponderosa and his family. The scent of Hop Sign's cooking and the pine trees outside his window filtered through his mind, as strong as if he was there right now.

"Home eh? Why'd you leave in the first place?"

"I didn't feel like I fit."

Morgan grunted. "Fitting anywhere takes effort, even in your own family. That ain't a good enough reason."

"Maybe not." Joe thought about all the emotions and feelings that had led up to the fight with Adam and then leaving. "I guess I don't like people trying to make me fit a mold or control who I am or what I'm going to do."

"Kid, you can travel all the way to China, and people will still be trying to make you something you don't want to be. You want to take control of your destiny? Speak up instead of running out or raising a fist."

"Since when are you philosophical?"

"I'm not. What did you put in the coffee?"

"Nothing."

"Sure. You know, when you get old you learn about life from painful experience, and you could easily tell someone how to live happily and easily. But they gotta make their own mistakes. You can preach to them all they want, they still won't listen."

"So why are you preaching to me?" Joe said with a grin.

"Who knows? But I guess it's better than singing."

"Probably." Joe turned his eyes back to the sunset, but all that was left was a pink band along the horizon that was slowly being squeezed out by the dark blue sky. "Think it's dark enough for you 'dark deeds'?" he asked.

"I reckon so." Morgan drained the rest of his coffee and kicked some dirt over their practically dead fire. Joe dumped out what was left in the coffee pot and put it and their two metal cups back into Morgan's pack. Already it was getting hard to see.

"After you." Joe said.

"Of course. You don't know the way." Morgan brushed past Joe into the woods. Joe had to move faster than he would have thought necessary to keep up with him. Although he himself could hardly see, Morgan walked on like a cat, padding silently and effortlessly navigating through the underbrush. When a small house came into view, he stopped.

"Sure you want to do this, kid?" his whisper was barely audible. "Might be tricky."

"Of course." Joe snapped.

"Alrighty then." he stepped out of the woods and walked up to the door. Joe followed. He didn't think he could feel afraid if he'd wanted to. All he could think of right now, was five months in a stinking cage because of the man inside the house. He clenched his fists as Morgan knocked on the door.

"Yes?" a short, stocky man with black hair opened the door. "Morgan, what...?" then he looked past Morgan and saw Joe.

Morgan lifted his hat. "Mind if we come in, Mr. Crane?" he pushed past the astonished man without waiting for an answer, and Joe followed suit, shutting the door behind him.

"Morgan, what's this all about? I don't know if you know, but that boy is a criminal."

"Is he now?" Morgan glanced at Joe. "Funny, he thinks you're the criminal."

"Me?" Crane's nervous expression was gone, replaced by a practiced nonchalance. "I didn't have anything to do with this boy's crime."

"Liar." Joe spat. He wanted to tear Crane to pieces, but he felt Morgan silently holding him back.

Crane glared at Joe. "Hardly. And unless you want to be dragged back to the jail that you miraculously managed to escape from, you'll be on your way. Thief." his grin was like a polecat's.

"You're the thief." Joe stepped forward, but Morgan held out a hand to stop him.

"Now, the boy's issued an accusation, Mr. Crane." he said. "Are you denying it?"

"I am." Crane sent Joe a superior look, and Joe responded with one of loathing.

"You didn't rob that store?" Morgan said.

"Of course not."

"You didn't do it then? Well, that sounds logical, huh Joe?" with an easy movement, Morgan raised his gun and brought the butt down across Joe's head. He tumbled to the floor. For a moment everything was black. Then as things became lighter, the room started spinning. Morgan and Crane's voices bounced around in his head as he tried to focus.

"Look, I brought the kid here for two reasons." Morgan was saying. "One: he wouldn't leave me alone, and two: if he sends a message to his father, there's gonna be a world of trouble for you. He'll believe that his kid is innocent, and he won't stop until he finds the man guilty. You."

"You still think I did it?"

"I'm counting on it."

"Well you're wrong, Mr. Morgan."

"Hmph. That's too bad." Joe dizzily saw Morgan raise his gun in the same careless manner and pull the trigger. Crane yelled, but there was no gunshot. Morgan stared confused for a second and then chuckled. "Son of a gun. Forgot to load it. Hold on a second."

"Wait. Why would you kill me? I didn't do anything." Crane was visibly shaking as Morgan slid a bullet into his pistol."

"I had my hopes set on a couple thousand dollars. You know, enough to get me whiskey for the rest of my life. But I guess you're no good to me…" he raised his gun again.

"Wait! I can give you the money!" Morgan raised his arms, bracing for the gunshot. Morgan hesitated.

"How much?"

"A thousand."

"A thousand?" Morgan chewed on his mustache thoughtfully. Joe tried to sit up but he couldn't seem to make his body respond. "You got around six thousand from the store, used two thousand of that to frame the kid…" Morgan gave Joe a slight kick in the head. Instantly the room became like a top that someone had respun after it had slowed down. "… so it's only fair that I get half."

"I don't have four thousand. I used some of it. I'll give you fifteen hundred."

"Hmm." Joe fought to rise. Morgan was holding the gun loosely enough; if he could just get to it…

"I'll throw in a wad of tobacco." Crane said. Morgan smiled.

"Mr. Crane, you've got yourself a deal. Show me the money."

"It's buried; I'll take you to it. What about the kid?"

"Leave him here 'til we get back. That way I know you won't double cross me. Got any rope?"

"Sure."

Morgan grabbed Joe's wrists and tied them together, then he did his legs.

"Traitor." Joe hissed.

"Sorry, kid; that's for stealing my hat. Sit tight and I'll make sure I kill you quickly when I get back." He stood and was gone.

Joe shifted so he wasn't lying on his arm. Inwardly was kicking himself for trusting Morgan. How could he have been such an idiot?

_Easy._ His mind told him. _One thing at a time. There might still be a way out of this mess._ He looked around for something he might be able to use to cut the rope. But everything that showed promise was out of reach. Joe's hand twisted and contorted behind his back a he tried to loosen the knots. Morgan knew what he was doing, that was for sure. Joe cursed inwardly.

_That's the last time I trust a dirty old man._ What had been one of the first things they'd told him in prison? Trust only yourself. He should have taken that a little more to heart. Instead he'd decided to put his faith in the good side of humanity. What a mistake that had been.

While Joe was still berating himself, the door opened, and Morgan walked in. Joe tensed, waiting for him to draw his gun and end it. Instead he tossed a dirty sack onto the floor.

"All of it's there, minus what he used to frame you." Morgan took out a knife, but instead of going for Joe's throat, he cut the ropes on his wrists. "Your man's out cold outside. I'll take him to the sheriff."

"What?" Joe blinked confusedly.

"It takes someone crooked to cross a crook. Sorry about your head."

The words made Joe reach up to touch the tender part of his skull. Instantly he wished he hadn't."

"There's a stage that comes through in the afternoon, right on to Virginia City. If you want to catch it, you might want to avoid getting entangled in the business of straightening all this out. Let the sheriff earn his salary for once."

"I don't have any money."

Almost before he'd finished the sentence, Morgan pressed some bills into his hand. Joe swallowed hard. "Why?"

"I just stole four thousand dollars; why should I care about money?" Morgan grinned and hauled Joe to his feet. "Think you can walk back to town?"

"You didn't hit me that hard." Joe stepped outside the house and nearly tripped over an unconscious Crane. He hesitated for a moment as the desire to rip the man to shreds returned. Then he shrugged. The night air was crisp and cool, making Joe feel lightheaded. Maybe that had something to do with Morgan's pistol landing on his skull, but Joe preferred to think it was because he was finally free.

**LittleJoe - Yep, free at last! I'm glad you're enjoying it!**

**BonanzaFan - Sorry this update took so long, but thanks for reviewing!**

**Tauna Petit-Strawn - Yeah, it's always nice to know the world isn't completely rotten :) **


	8. Chapter 8

**So sorry I waited so long to get this up; I thought I'd posted it for some reason. Once again, I apologize for the wait, but here's the last part.**

"Pa!" Hoss galloped up to the front door and barely took the time to tie up Chubb before running to the door. "Pa!"

"What's the matter, Hoss?" Ben met his son at the door. For an instant his jaw clenched with worry, but the anxiety quickly disappeared when he saw the jubilant look on his Hoss's face.

"There was a telegram today from the sheriff of Placerville." Hoss paused to catch his breath. He didn't think he'd breathed at all on the ride back from Virginia City. "He asked about Little Joe."

"Little Joe?" Ben felt the blood drain from his face.

"It said something about the man who committed the crime that Joe was sent to prison for being found, and he wants to get word to him."

"Prison?" Ben struggled to make sense of Hoss's confusing information. "But if he was in prison, why would he be asking me? And if Joe was arrested, why didn't he send word?"

"I guess you'd have to ask the sheriff of Placerville." Hoss handed Ben the telegram.

"That's exactly what I intend to do." Ben strode toward the barn and then turned. "Hoss, you and Adam stay here. I'll get to the bottom of this."

"Yessir." Hoss took his hat off, wiped his brow, and then went to unsaddle his horse. He sure wouldn't want to be in that sheriff's shoes when Pa rode into town and demanded to know why his son had been sent to prison and where he was now. No sir, he didn't envy that sheriff one bit.

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Placerville. So close, it was absurd, less than a hundred miles from the Ponderosa. Why hadn't he thought to look there? Ben could only hope his neglect of the town hadn't caused too much damage. His mind ran over the telegram again and again as he rode. It was simple enough: MAN WHO COMMITTED CRIME YOUR SON WAS INCARCERATED FOR FOUND STOP REQUEST INFORMATION ON WHEREABOUTS TO INFORM HIM STOP. It didn't get much simpler, but Ben sensed a complicated story behind the words. One that he hoped to get to the bottom of as soon a possible.

He reined in his horse in front of the sheriff's office and strode inside. He took in the man at the desk in one glance and instantly disliked him. Too offhandish somehow, as if he simply wanted to sit back and control his town from a distance. Ben pushed the thoughts aside and held out his hand.

"Ben Cartwright." he said.

The sheriff stood. "Sheriff Jim McClain. I see you got my telegram, Mr. Cartwright."

"Yes, and I would like to know what it's about." Ben said sharply. It was the tone of voice that commanded respect from farmers, ranch hands, and business men alike, and it worked on the sheriff too. He straightened and cleared his throat.

"Just what it said Mr. Cartwright. Your son convicted of robbery about five months ago and sent to San Quentin State Prison. Recently I was informed that he escaped. Then last night one of our locals turned in the man who actually committed the crime, and I've been trying to locate the boy to tell him that he was cleared."

"But why wasn't I notified when he was arrested?" Ben demanded. "He didn't send a telegram?"

Sheriff McClain cleared his throat again, this time nervously. "He didn't."

"Then how did you know how to find me when you sent this telegram?" Ben slapped the paper on the sheriff's desk. The sheriff squirmed under Ben's gaze as the rancher tried to decide if it would be better to continue talking or to punch him over the head. Before he could make up his mind, the door creaked open.

"See you have company, Sheriff." a rusty old voice came from behind a shaggy grey beard.

"Not now, Morgan." But the sheriff seemed glad to have another person there. Clearly he thought Mr. Cartwright had been going to resort to the punching method.

"You're Ben Cartwright, I presume?" the old man acted as if the sheriff hadn't said a word.

"Yes." Ben followed suit and ignored the sheriff, stepping toward the old man.

"Well he can't tell you anything. Spent almost the entire time with his boots up on the desk and buttocks in that there chair."

"I believe it." Ben continued to ignore the indignant looks he was getting from McClain. "And you are?"

"Paul Morgan." he jerked his head sideways. "I don't like to be inside. Makes me feel closet-phobic, if you know what I mean."

Ben suppressed a smile and followed Morgan out into the street.

"I saw you come riding up like a tribe of wild injuns was on your tail, and I figured you were the kid's Pa. Say, you haven't got any tobacco on you, do ya?"

"What? No, no, I'm sorry." Ben felt impatience rising up inside himself again. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Never mind then. Was worth a shot."

"Mr. Morgan, please, how do you know my son?" Ben resisted the urge to grab the man by his collar and shake him.

"I met him the first time he came through town a few months back. We talked and went our separate ways. I thought he was off to N'Orleans like he'd said, but next thing I know a store's been robbed and they're calling him the guilty one. Sheriff found him with the money on the road. Simple trial, right? So the judge sends him off to good old Quentin, and that's the end of that. Or so people thought." he started to chuckle. "You know, the way you went after that sheriff, I can see where the boy gets his gumption. He's not one to let anyone tell him no when he says yes." he shook his head. "Yes sir, quite the kid."

"The sheriff said he escaped." Ben tried to steer Morgan back on topic.

"Right. Guess there was some sort of fire and a whole bunch of prisoners got loose. Lucky for him too, cuz if it'd just been him he'd 'ave been caught quicker'n an albino squirrel. Nothing against your son, Mr. Cartwright, but he's got a bit to learn. Still, he made it back here in one piece, so I guess he's smarter than he looks. Smart enough to come to me for help."

"Help with what?" Ben wasn't sure when this man's ramblings would reveal something useful.

"Catching the real thief. Which we did. Made quick work of him too. Then I sent him on his way."

"On his way to where?"

"Virginia City."

"Virginia City." Ben exhaled in relief. "Thank you."

"Don't bother. Hitting Crane over the head is something I'd been wanting to do for a while now."

"What time did he leave?"

"The stage came through at a little after two. I told him to make sure to be on it. Otherwise that sheriff would have him here for a week trying to sort through the mess he left behind. I figured once was enough to be in trouble with the law."

Ben studied Morgan. "You mean the sheriff..."

Morgan cut him off with a wave of his hand. "He's honest, or mostly honest. He just doesn't like extra work, or being wrong. He woulda kept Joe here a while for spite."

"Well, thank you again, Mr. Morgan." Ben turned to remount his horse.

"Say, Cartwright." Morgan stepped forward. "It's a ways back, and your animal's tired. Take an hour or so to rest. You buy the tobacco, I'll buy the whiskey. Deal?"

Ben hesitated, but Morgan was right. Buck was tired, and if what Morgan had said was true, Little Joe was on the way home now. Provided that he didn't get into more trouble, he would be there when he got back anyway, so he might a well let his horse rest. He smiled.

"Point me in the direction of the saloon."

Morgan clapped him on the back. "Right this way, sir."

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It was after nightfall when the stage rattled into Virginia City. Joe had spent the morning hiding in the livery stable hay loft waiting for it and then the afternoon inside being bounced and jostled against a fat man and a smelly one. When it finally arrived and he stepped outside, he wanted to kneel down and kiss the ground. He glanced around the familiar street, breathing deeply, then his eye stopped at the livery stable. Maybe he could get a horse and Pa would pay for it later. It was a long walk to the Ponderosa.

"Well, look who's back in town." a familiar voice called out behind him.

"Jake."

"Joe." The freckled young man studied Joe warily, and he stared back, like two cats before a fight. Then Joe shook his head to clear it. His first order of business was to get back home; Jake could wait until later. Like after Pa let him out of the closet he would lock Joe in when he got home.

"Later, Jake."

"Wait a minute Cartwright. You've been gone a while; where you been?"

"Prison." Joe kept walking with Jake right on his heels.

"Really? All this time? You're Pa put out that you'd run off."

"Yep, I ran off to prison. Seemed like an ideal place, free room and board and plenty of roommates to arm wrestle with. I was actually the champion there; that's why they let me out."

Jake snorted. "You couldn't beat me."

"I already did. Before I left, remember?"

"Yeah, but you don't look like you've been eating too good. You've lost a bit of muscle there, Little Joe." He punched Joe's arm. "I doubt you could beat me now."

Joe stopped. If he could get around Pa having to pay for a horse, it was worth a little extra time.

"Your horse in town?"

"Yeah, why?"

"If I win, I borrow your horse for the night so I can ride out to the Ponderosa."

"Then how will I get home?"

"You've got two legs. But I thought you said I couldn't win."

Jake crossed his arms as he thought. Joe waited. He was pretty sure Jake had already decided to take the bet; right now he was probably thinking of what he wanted if Joe lost.

"Alright." Jake finally said. "But when you lose, I get that knife of yours with the engraved handle."

"Deal." He could always get another knife, Joe decided as he led the way across the street to the general store. It was closed, but there was a small table out front.

Joe sat and put his elbow on it, arm raised. Jake grabbed his hand, mirroring Joe's stance. For an instant they were both relaxed, and then they both tensed and locked against each other. Joe waited, matching Jake's strength, but not trying to overcome it. Not yet. He had lost some muscle in jail, but he was still pretty sure he could win. He just wanted to tire Jake out a little first. After a few minutes of being equally matched, Joe began to push harder. Jake's hand slowly lowered, then he started pushing back harder. His face grew red as he steadily moved Joe's hand back upright and then began to bring it down.

Joe gritted his teeth and pushed back. As they both struggled, Jake's hand slowly began to move downward. Joe continued to fight, his eyes locked on Jake's hand, which was only a few inches from the table. He didn't notice Jake's other fist until it landed on the side of his head. Then he felt himself rolling off the chair and into the wall of the store. Instantly he was on his feet, a grin on his face.

"So that's the way you want to play?" He muttered before hurling himself at Jake. They both crashed through the porch railing and into the dusty street.

Joe's fist struck Jake's nose right before he felt his own eye get hit. He got knocked down and then sprung right up in time to hit Jake in the stomach. Jake leaned forward and managed to dodge Joe's next blow. He pushed Joe backwards, and Joe grabbed onto him right before he splashed into a water trough, pulling Jake with him. For a moment they both floundered, and for a brief moment Joe, who was beneath Jake and barely able to get his head above the water, wondered if was going to drown. Then Jake climbed out, and Joe sprang up, He backed Jake against the wall with a couple of punches, then Jake ducked and hit him on the side of the head where Morgan's gun had struck. For a moment everything went blurry, and he felt himself crashing backwards into the store window. He raised his arms to shield his face from falling glass. Jake jumped through the window, and Joe grabbed his leg, sending him sprawling across the floor and into a display of fabric. For a moment Jake blinded by the material, and Joe got a few good punches in. From somewhere in the back of his mind he heard people yelling, but he was too focused on the fight. With adrenaline pumping through him, he felt more exhilarated than he had in months.

Jake sprang from the fabric and grabbed onto Joe. Joe shoved him backwards, and they both fell into a shelf along the wall. Jars rained down on them, breaking as they hit the boys and the floor, and in an instant they were both covered in spices. Joe sent a solid punch toward Jake and scrambled to his feet, trying to breathe through the multitudes of aromas that were sticking to the inside of his nose, and everywhere else on him for that matter. Then Jake was back up and hurling himself into Joe. They fell backwards again, and Joe grabbed onto one of Jake's arms. With the other hand he aimed a fist at Jake's face. Then he felt a pair of arms dragging him away. Someone else had grabbed hold of Jake.  
"What is the meaning of this?" the sheriff demanded. He looked from one boy to the other. Jake brushed off the hands that were holding him back and Joe gasped for air. Their eyes met, and they both seemed to shrug. There really wasn't much of a meaning or reason. It was just a bad place to be having a fight.

"My window!" The store owner seemed to agree. "And my spices! Sheriff, these ruffians have cost me over fifty dollars worth of damages." The small, skinny man seemed to have grown three feet as he joined the sheriff in glaring at the boys.

"Well? Do either of you have enough money to compensate Mr. Nolan?"

"You know we don't, Sheriff." Jake said.

"I know. Come on boys."

"Where are we going?" Jake asked.

"Down to the jail. You two can cool your heels until your fathers give me enough money to pay Mr. Nolan off." He gave Joe a gentle push.

"I just got out of jail too." Joe muttered. The scene was getting to be too familiar: follow the sheriff into the jail, get escorted out back and into a cell, and then, after being locked in, sit and wait.

"Thanks a lot." Joe slumped onto the cot. He wiped his face on the blanket and stared at his clothes. They would probably smell for weeks. "My Pa's gonna kill me. I mean, there was already a good chance of him killing me before, but now it's pretty much set in stone."

"Aw come on, Joe. I was just welcoming you home. So when do I get my knife?"

"Your knife?" Joe threw the blanket down. "You didn't win."

"Neither did you."

"Because you hit me before I could beat you."

"You wouldn't have won."

"Please."

"Wanna rematch?"

"Fine. But you're not getting my knife."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't need your stupid horse anymore, idiot."

"Fine." Jake propped his arm up. "By the way, you have a black eye."

"So do you." Joe reached up to touch his right eye and then winced. "Think anyone will notice?" he muttered. Already it felt like it had swollen to almost twice its size.

"Nah. Not when you consider wreck you already look like."

"As if you look much better."

"At least I've got more meat on my bones. Thought you said the food was free in prison?"

"Yeah, if you could eat it."

"What were you in for?"

"Got framed for robbing a store."

"How'd you get out?"

"There was a fire and I escaped, then I found the guy who did it."

"Nice. Hey, sorry about your eye."

"Yeah, sorry about your nose." Joe glanced at it. "I think the bleeding stopped though, in case you're wondering."

"Yeah?" Jake felt it. "Thought it was broken for a minute."

They both looked up as the sheriff entered and unlocked the cell door. "You're pa's here, Jake."

"Looks like we'll have to rematch later, Joe." Jake called over his shoulder.

"Right." Joe lay on the cot and closed his eyes. His skin itched all over from the spices, but at least he couldn't smell it anymore. Why couldn't they have fallen into the water rough after they'd broken the shelves?

_Nothing can be easy, can it?_ He railed at himself._ Everything has to be complicated. Sure, you could have just gotten a horse or even walked out to the Ponderosa, but no, you have to get into a fight and end up breaking half the general store._ Joe couldn't easily imagine the look on his Pa's face, and it made him grimace. _So much for a happy homecoming._

Joe jumped up when the door reopened and the Sheriff entered. As he unlocked the cell door, Joe braced himself for what his father would say. Then he stopped short as he entered the office.

"Adam."

"You've got quite the knack for trouble." His older brother said. He stood only a few feet away, but it could have easily been on the other side of the world.

Joe shifted uncomfortably. "Where's Pa?"

"Out in Placerville. He got a telegram from the Sheriff there asking if we knew your whereabouts because they'd caught the man who did the robbery that you were incarcerated for." Adam's tone held a question.

"Yeah. It's a long story." Joe looked up at Adam. All his life it had been like Adam had towered over him, but now he seemed as if he could actually see eye to eye with him.

"So where were you headed when this happened?" he glanced up and down Joe's spice covered clothes.

"The Ponderosa. I…" Joe took a deep breath. "I was stupid. And it actually didn't take me six months to figure that out, but I got a little sidetracked as you learned from the telegram."

"Well, I guess it takes two." Adam clapped a hand on Joe's shoulder. "Were you planning on walking back or did you need a ride?"

Joe grinned, all the tension melting away faster than snow after a spring rain. "I'll arm wrestle you for your horse."

"You think you can beat me?" Adam stared down at his brother with incredulous amusement.

"Nah. But I could probably beat you at checkers now."

"Really."

"You have a lot of free time in prison, and I got several lessons from the best." Joe told him.

"You're on then." Adam said.

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It was nearly two in the morning when Ben rode up in front of his house, and he was surprised to see that there were still lights on. He wrapped his reins around the hitching post and quickly walked up to the door. When he opened it he stopped short. His three sons were staring intensely at the checkerboard, so intensely that none of them seemed to have noticed his entrance. Bed let out a long breath at the sight of Little Joe. He looked like he'd gotten on the wrong side of a professional boxer, but other than that he seemed very much alright, and from the looks of the checkerboard, he was managing to beat both Hoss and Adam. For some reason he hadn't let himself fully believe what Paul Morgan had told him until he saw Joe at home with his own eyes. Ben stepped forward to get a better look at the board. None of his sons' concentration wavered.

"Give it up, boys, he's got you beat." He said to Hoss and Adam. The three young men jumped.

"Pa! When did you get back?" Hoss was the first to find his voice.

"Just now." Ben noticed Little Joe hesitantly standing by the chair he'd jumped out of. He reached out and arm and in one swift movement had pressed his son to his chest. When Little Joe winced, he released the pressure.

"Your friend Mr. Morgan didn't mention that you were in such rough shape when you left Placerville." He studied the various different shades of purple on Joe's face.

"Well, that didn't exactly happen in Placerville." Joe said hesitantly.

"Oh?" Ben raised his eyebrows.

"He's been to the doctor already." Adam stepped in, changing the subject so Joe wouldn't have to explain to Ben about the fight. "Doc says he just needs a couple days of rest to recuperate and then he'll be good as new."

"Exactly." Joe looked gratefully at his older brother.

"Rest, is it? Then what are you doing up at this hour?"

"Uh..." Joe turned to Adam, who shrugged. He wasn't going to fight all of Little Joe's battles for him.

"To bed." Ben said. "Your game can wait until the morning."

"But..."

"Bed, Joseph." The boy may have looked alert, but Ben could see telltale signs of fatigue.

As Joe turned to go, Ben caught his arm and pulled him back in another hug.

"And don't you ever worry me like that again, do you hear?"

"Yes, sir." Joe's voice was muffled as he spoke into his father's shirt. He inhaled deeply, breathing in his father's scent all all that in meant: comfort, safety, belonging. Joe closed his eyes. He was home.


End file.
